Ties that Bind
by DanDanger1
Summary: He wanted to push her away that summer after they buried Dumbledore, for her own safety. Merlin, he wanted to. But what happened if something happened that summer that meant he couldn't? Also, Sirius lives! A Harry/Ginny soul-bond story. Rated T for now, maybe change to M to be on the safe side, for adult language and themes.
1. Prologue: Part the First

**Author's Note: Hi guys, this is one of my longer stories that I'm rather proud of (and it is still no-where near finished, but that's what happens when you're working on a Masters' degree). Its a MULTI story Harry/Ginny 'soul bond' story. Porting it over from SIYE where my penname is sabradan. **

_He was dead. Sirius Black was dead. And it was all his fault... _

Harry Potter was having a rather inauspicious beginning to the summer holidays after a rather horrid fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The teenage wizard sat on his bed at half past one in the morning, yet again, at Number Four, Privet Drive. He had been back with his relatives for nearly a week and a half now, and he couldn't remember getting a full nights' sleep once. He would always wake up in the middle of the night, his sheets at his ankles, having thrashed around violently during one of his many nightmares, where he would undoubtedly relive one of the many horrible experiences he had over the past year.

And so it came to be that tonight, again, Harry Potter was awake, doing his level best to keep his 'condition' as he had come to calling it, away from his Aunt and Uncle's knowledge. So, he sat on the edge of his bed, again, his head in his hands, and brooding.

_The year hadn't been so unbearably bad_, he thought ruefully, until the end of term. Sure, Minister Fudge was still being as bull-headed as ever, denying Voldemort's return and had gone so far as to interfere in Hogwarts by installing one of his own people as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And Umbridge was, for all intents and purposes a horrid little toad, and by far the worst defence teacher he'd ever had, of course. More accurately, he thought, the more appropriate title would be 'How-Not-To-Defend-Yourself-Against-The- Dark-Arts' teacher, chuckling mirthlessly. But she was manageable, even when she was unfair to students, punished him with countless detentions where he was forced to write lines with a blood quill, and even when she became Fudge's appointed 'High Inquisitor' and started sacking teachers, including Dumbledore, left, right and centre. He could deal with that, he thought bitterly. But his life was never simple enough to just give him one problem to deal with. Not Harry Potter.

He could even deal with some of the other things, he thought miserably to himself. In addition to Umbridge, there was also the fact that the Ministry, as well as the Daily Prophet, and most mainstream sources for the Wizarding community, were trying their level best to discredit him and Professor Dumbledore as nothing more than compulsive liars and ne'er do wells trying to stir up trouble.

_That didn't bother him, really_, he thought. _No, that was a lie_, he thought bitterly to himself. He did mind, but not for the reason a normal 15 year old boy would mind. After all, he wasn't a normal 15 year old boy; he wasn't able to be a normal 15 year old. He was Harry-bloody-Potter, the bleeding hero of the Wizarding World, for something he didn't do, nor could he even remember, when he lost his parents to Voldemort at the age of 15 months. He couldn't just have normal 15 year old problems, worrying about girls, and homework, and his now-looming O.W.L. results, or even the current standings for his favourite Quidditch team.

No, he had all those worries, of course, but he also had to worry about being the saviour of the wizarding world, again, now that Voldemort had returned, even if Minister Fudge didn't believe him. He also had to worry about trying to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, so as not to give them anything more to discredit him with. _Not that they weren't doing a bloody fine job of that already_, he thought bitterly. That was why he cared; not that he didn't mind the defamation of his character, because he did, of course; but rather, because he and his friends, and Professor Dumbledore, and the Order of the Phoenix needed to begin preparing for the war that was brewing on the horizon. And, in order to do that, they needed to begin recruiting people for the coming fight; but in order to attract members, they first needed everyone to believe that Lord Voldemort had, indeed, returned. And the Prophet and the Ministry had done a bloody good job of preventing that, he thought bitterly. That was why he had a particularly foul attitude towards the Minister, The Daily Prophet, and, in particular, Rita Skeeter.

Of course, he also had normal 15 year old worries to burden him as well; Quidditch, studying for his O.W.L.s (the results for which should come in the post sometime in the next few weeks, he realised ruefully), and girls.

No, the real crucible came, Harry miserably recollected, came at the end of the last term, a mere few weeks prior. Voldemort had lured him to the Ministry to collect a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, under the pretence of saving his godfather, and only father figure, Sirius Black, from what he thought was torture at the hands of Voldemort himself. So he had been lured to the Department of Mysteries in the heart of London's Ministry for Magic, and he had brought his friends along. He had fought with them on that for a while, but eventually he gave in, and they all went to London with him. So, he, along with his friends Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, stormed the Department of Mysteries, only to find not only no sign of Sirius Black, but to then be ambushed by some of Lord Voldemort's most elite Death Eaters.

There was a fierce battle that later ensued, which resulted in The Order of the Phoenix coming to their rescue as they fought the Death Eaters in the Death Chamber in the Ministry. Unfortunately, while none of his friends were too badly hurt, this fight had resulted in Sirius Black's death. Bellatrix Lestrange, his demented Death Eater cousin had cursed him, and the curse, while in itself was not-quite-lethal, sent him flying through the Veil. Harry tried to rush after him, to save him, but it was no use, he was gone. Remus Lupin had had to use all his strength _(which was quite a lot, despite his frame, thanks to being a werewolf_, Harry mused) to hold him back and drag him back to Hogwarts. Of course, before he could do that, Harry had chased after Bellatrix, and tried to place her under the Cruciatus Curse (unsuccessfully), and had been possessed by none other than Voldemort himself, before Professor Dumbledore came, duelled with Voldemort (whom he refused to call anything but 'Tom Riddle'), and finally expelled Voldemort from his body, until finally, just before Tom left the ministry, Minister Fudge came and saw, with his own eyes that the Dark Lord had, indeed, returned.

Once he had finally returned to Hogwarts, Harry could feel nothing but anger and grief at the loss of Sirius, as well as the prophecy about himself and Voldemort (that he had been there, in Voldemort's eyes, 'to retrieve') that left no doubt in his mind about the outcome of the brewing war (_'__Either must die at the hand of the other...for neither can live while the other survives'_) that he practically destroyed everything not nailed down or hidden away in the aged Headmaster's office. But it didn't change the fact that Sirius was dead. He blamed Bellatrix, of course, as well as that fat toad, Umbridge, and Snape, for not helping immediately in his rescue of Sirius; but most of all, he blamed himself. It was his fault Sirius died; if he hadn't believed Voldemort's mind games that he was torturing Sirius, and hadn't come storming down to London without thinking rationally first; hell, if he had even tried to contact Sirius first directly (rather than relying on that traitorous elf, Kreacher), he would've known that Sirius was safe and fine (if a bit bored), and Sirius wouldn't have had to come to rescue him. But he didn't, and now Sirius was dead. And it was all his fault.

_I'm so sorry, Sirius, it's all my fault..._

It took him a while for the reality to even sink in, let alone come to terms with it. He still hadn't come to terms with it, he reminded himself bitterly, or else he wouldn't be up at half past one in the morning, brooding over the events of the past few weeks. Soon after destroying nearly everything in Headmaster Dumbledore's office, he was sent on his way back to his common room to rest; he never made it halfway there. After that, the shock, and the adrenaline and all the pressure of the past year had finally got to him, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor.  
When he woke up the next morning (or what he thought was the next morning), he wasn't in his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, but rather, in the bed that had, over the past five years, become 'his' bed in the Hogwarts Infirmary, with the stern, but motherly Madam Pomfrey looking after him.

When he had finally cleared the sleep from his mind and found his glasses, he realised that he wasn't alone in the Hospital Wing; Remus Lupin, Professor Dumbledore as well as Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all sitting by his bedside. They all wore concerned expressions on their faces and seemed well relieved at his finally waking up. They all tried to reassure him that what had happened was not his fault, but Harry didn't really hear any of it; it was his fault and he knew it. He appreciated their gestures, of course, but he didn't take to heart any of what they were saying. Eventually they tried engaging him in conversation on much lighter and more insignificant grounds, in an attempt to draw him into conversation, to get him to talk. That, too, failed to work. Harry had simply not wanted to be bothered by anyone. He listened to what they were saying, of course, and appreciated their gestures, but refused to be drawn into their conversations, regardless of what the topic was. Eventually, they realised their presence wasn't helping him any, and when Madam Pomfrey shooed them out of the infirmary so that Harry could rest, they left without complaint.

And so things went along that way for the past few weeks, to the end of term, and even continuing along the same lines now that the summer holidays had started. Harry was waking up. They all tried to reassure him that what had happened was not his fault, but Harry didn't really hear any of it; it was his fault and he knew it. He appreciated their gestures, of course, but he didn't take to heart any of what they were saying. Eventually they tried engaging him in conversation on much lighter and more insignificant grounds, in an attempt to draw him into conversation, to get him to talk. That, too, failed to work. Harry had simply not wanted to be bothered by anyone. He listened to what they were saying, of course, and appreciated their gestures, but refused to be drawn into their conversations, regardless of what the topic was. Eventually, they realised their presence wasn't helping him any, and when Madam Pomfrey shooed them out of the infirmary so that Harry could rest, they left without complaint.

And so things went along that way for the past few weeks, to the end of term, and even continuing along the same lines now that the summer holidays had started. Harry was completely understand. He rationalised his actions to himself by saying that things were better off this way: they were better off without him; he would only get them killed, the same way he got his parents killed, and then Cedric Diggory, and now Sirius. They were all confused, and rather angry at his actions, he could tell, but they would get over it, eventually. He decided that he would rather have them alive and have them hate him, than have them dead, and have their blood on his hands as well. It hurt, a lot, if he was honest with himself, but he made a decision, and he would be damned if he would change his mind and get his friends killed for his own selfish need of friendship. And Harry Potter was nothing, if not stubborn.

They had all sent him letters, of course. It seemed like nearly the minute he stepped into his room at Number Four, Privet Drive, he was assaulted by Owls of all sorts of varying sizes and colours. He recognised, of course, Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl (who was carrying letters from both him and Ginny), but there were others from his other close friends, as well as one from Remus, one from Hagrid, one from Professor Dumbledore and yet another from his auror friend, Tonks. Harry, however, resolutely refused to open any of them, except for one: the one from Ginny.

Ginny Weasley was another thing that was confusing Harry lately. They had grown much closer over the past year than in the past. She had apparently gotten over her dreadfully embarrassing (for both of them, really) schoolgirl crush on him sometime over the past two years, and had steadily grown their relationship from nothing more than casual acquaintances, as she was Ron's (Harry's best mate) little sister, to good friends in and of themselves. She had been seeing Michael Corner of Ravenclaw over the past year, until they had broken up towards the end of the year, for various reasons and it seemed to Harry as if after that he had started to see her in an entirely new light. Until recently, she was just little Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister, and then just Ginny Weasley, his friend. He had never before really noticed how she was no longer all that 'little', after hitting a rather flattering growth spurt in all the right places the previous year, which had filled out her petite frame in all the right places. Before she had broken up with Michael, Harry admitted, he had never noticed her in anything but a platonic manner; he had never noticed what a truly beautiful young woman she was growing into, where she had all the right curves or how her deep brown eyes had small flecks of gold in them and flashed to a near hazel when she was angry, or upset, or in another situation where her passions for one thing or another ran high. Nor did he notice before how her hair colour, a bright, vibrant red, seemed to change slightly with the varying sunlight: from a bright, fiery nearly-orange colour, to deep, vibrant, nearly copper colour, and anywhere in between. And now he was starting to notice it, and it scared him slightly.

And then, when they were in the Department of Mysteries, he had acted more protective of her than any of his other friends who had accompanied him there, even going so far as stepping in front of her, multiple times, in attempts to shield and protect her as much as he could. It was particularly unnerving to him, for the reasons that he didn't try to do that for any of his other friends, and he knew, very well, that Ginny was as capable a witch as any of his other friends there; and also because she let him, on more than one occasion, when it was well-known that Ginny Weasley hated being shielded and protected in that manner, from anyone, even (_no, especially,_ Harry thought) her brothers. Yet, she let him, without so much as a harsh word, let alone her famous bat-bogey hex, and it unnerved him. Both the fact that she had let him without complaint, even though she rarely needed it, and the fact that he was so much more protective of her than the others, when he knew she could take care of herself. He had been thinking about that situation, and her, a lot over the past couple of weeks since Sirius' death, and that confused and unnerved him even more.

_Did he fancy Ginny Weasley? He couldn't fancy her, could he?_ After all, she was his friend, Ginny. Just friends. And she was Ron's little sister, surely, she was out-of-bounds, right? Surely, he couldn't fancy Ginny Weasley. Especially now, once she had finally gotten over him and started dating other people. _No, he couldn't fancy her; and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it anyway–it wouldn't be fair to anyone involved._

Unfortunately for him, however, he wasn't quite as stubborn when it came to her as it did to his decision about his other friends._Of course you fancy her, you bleeding idiot!_ A small voice would always say in the back of his mind whenever his mind drifted in that direction. _You fancy her, a lot. Maybe even more than fancy. And you know that Ron would be okay with it eventually, too. After all, on the ride back to King's Cross, he was all but trying to set you two up!_

This was also true. Perhaps Ron wasn't as dense as most people thought, if he could see right through Harry and see the things that even he wouldn't willingly admit to himself, let alone try to do something about it. When Harry was honest with himself, he knew the little voice was right. He did fancy Ginny. He did. And he had to be honest with himself; he owed everyone at least that. He owed it to himself, and to his friends, and he owed it to Sirius. Sirius would want him to be happy, and more importantly, want him to be honest with himself, especially when it came to fancying girls. Yes, when he was honest to himself, he did quite fancy Ginny. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option right now, he didn't think. After all, she was seeing Dean Thomas. She had told that to Ron (and their entire compartment) that she was seeing him after Ron's attempt to hint that she should choose better boyfriends (while hinting madly that 'better' meant 'Harry').

_That's not true, either_, the little voice inside his head screamed at him. _She only told that to Ron to get him off her back about her relationships, and you know that! She added it as a post-script on her letter._ And it was true. She had written that in her post script that she wasn't really seeing Dean, but instead just wanted to see Ron squirm, he admitted to himself yet again. But what did that mean? Did she know how he was feeling about her, now, of all times? Was he that transparent? And if he was, or if she did somehow know, how did she feel? Was that a hint that she wanted him to ask her out? _But it couldn't be, could it? After all, she got over him almost a year ago, right?_ He thought to himself. Yet, the more often he tried to persuade himself to the contrary, the less and less effective it became. If he was completely and truly honest with himself, he would admit that he did indeed fancy Ginny rather badly, and that she wasn't seeing Dean, and that, if he asked her on a date, he probably had a very good chance at the response he wanted. But what should he do?

_Damn it, Sirius! I'm so confused! I need your help. What should I do...?_

He paused in his introspection once again to reread Ginny's letter for what must have been the fiftieth time. It wasn't that he was so much more interested in what Ginny had to say–well, a bit he did, but not that he wanted to purposely ignore the others–but he just couldn't bring himself to read the others because he knew exactly what they would say, and he wasn't in the mood right now to read them. Ginny's, however, was different. It read:

_Dear Harry,_

Things here at the Burrow are alright, all things considered. Very average, at least for a Weasley holiday. Ron's going nutty about Hermione and whenever she sends him an owl, he runs up to his room to read it in private. He never used to do that before, you know. I think Ron fancies Hermione and that's why they're writing back and forth so much, and why he's acting all wonky. When you come here, you'll see what I mean.

The twins are already in trouble with Mum. It wasn't bad enough that they dropped out of Hogwarts in their last year ('IN YOUR LAST YEAR!' Mum was screaming the other day. I'm sure the muggles in the village could have heard them, and I'm nearly positive Luna and her dad across the way did as well. 'YOU COULDN'T WAIT THREE BLOODY WEEKS?!' The fact that Mum swore is huge, Harry. Mum never curses. Like, at all. That means this is REALLY bad). But not only that she found out about the shop (though not anything about their kind, generous and rather handsome benefactor...anyone I might know?) and she practically exploded. She wouldn't let them come over for tea for a week. She's just now started feeding them again.

Of course, Percy's still being a Git, and Charlie's well, Charlie, and is still in Rumania. Bill, on the other hand is very busy with Gringotts, the Order, and Fleur. I honestly didn't believe for a minute that all the time he spends with her is ' 'elping her with 'er eengleesh' one bit. And I was right. They're dating! Ugh! He brought her over for dinner the other night, and it was the most awkward meal I can ever remember. Ever. Even more awkward than the first time you came to the Burrow and I put my elbow in the butter dish! It was that bad.

Anyway, I'm sure you don't really want to hear all my ramblings, and that's not really why I wrote to you, either. And I know you don't really want to hear any of this, or be pushed or anything, but really Harry, I need to know, how are you? I'm not going to tell you that 'it'll all be alright' and that you 'need to talk about it' as I'm sure Hermione would, nor am I going to completely ignore it and pretend like nothing happened like my thick-headed brother will undoubtedly do. I'm not going to push you to talk when you're not ready or anything else like this, but I do want to know how you're feeling. As in how you're REALLY feeling; and don't you dare tell me that you're 'fine', Harry Potter, because you know as well as I do that for you, 'fine' means 'not dead'. If you don't want to tell me all the details and everything, that's alright. But I do want to hear SOMETHING substantial from you. Please, Harry. You're my friend and I really do care about you, and I want to make sure you're alright. Please know, Harry, that if and when you are ready to talk, I will be here and more than willing to listen.

I also know that right now you are probably locking yourself in your room, brooding about Sirius. Please don't, Harry. I'm serious. Well, actually, no, I'm Ginny, but listen to me anyway. (Sorry, Harry, I had to!) I know you tend to like to push people away and blame yourself, but if you only ever listen to one thing I have to say, let this be it: THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. I repeat: THIS IS NOT YOUR FAULT. The only person the blame for what happened falls on is Tom Riddle and Bellatrix Lestrange. They lured us there, they started the duels, they created the situation where Sirius had to come in the first place (and I know you blame yourself for that too, please don't...there's no way any of us could have known better. I would have made the same decision in your shoes) and Bellatrix killed him. Not you. Please, please remember that.

Anyway, I think I've rambled on enough. I hope you'll believe me when you read this letter, Harry, and please listen to what you're heart tells you as well as your brain, and that you write back soon.

I hope you're managing to keep the muggles off your back, at least.

With Love,

Ginny

P.S. I'm not really seeing Dean, I just wanted to see Ron squirm and let him know that he has no right interfering in my relationships! See you soon!

This letter, while simple, raised Harry's spirits so much, yet raised so many questions. Mostly, again, about Ginny. Did she know how he felt? Was he that transparent? How, exactly DID he feel about Ginny? (At this point, the voice again cut into his brain and said, 'You bleeding fancy her, you ponce!') And how did she feel about him? After all, she was supposedly over him? And why did she sign her letter 'with love'? That wasn't something all girls did. After all, Hermione certainly never signed any letters like that–well, maybe letters to Ron, he quickly added, sniggering–but none to him, certainly. Maybe that was just how she was? Or perhaps...just maybe, she wasn't completely over him, and he had a chance? But a chance at what? Should he even risk getting her even more involved and endanger her even more than she already was? He sighed heavily, trying to settle his nerves enough so he could return to bed to at least get a few more hours of sleep. Maybe everything would be clearer in the morning. His last thought before he hit the pillow was 'If only Sirius were here, he would know what to do'.


	2. Prologue: Part the Second

**A/N–I've tried to time it so that Sirius's return is about two and a half weeks after the end of term, and about 2 or 3 days after we last see Harry in 'Part the First'.**

**A/N 2–'Orbona' was an Ancient Roman minor goddess. She was the goddess of orphans, orphanages and parents who had lost children (particularly to death and disease). I figured it was fitting that she were watching over Sirius and Harry. I made my descriptions of her and her physical characteristics up entirely myself, as not really a lot of information is known about her. I hope it fits to you, too.**

Sirius found himself in a world of inky blackness. Not the average darkness that is usually mixed with varying shades of greys, blues and purples normally associated with the black of night, but rather a pure, undiluted jet of total darkness.

He wasn't dead–or, at least he didn't think he was–since he could still feel his body about him, and he most definitely had consciousness, though he couldn't tell where he was at all, or what exactly he was doing here, let alone where here was.

And then there was the pain; sweet Merlin, there was pain. He had no logical idea of where he was, or even what his relative position was here, in comparison to anything else in the room; or even if he was, indeed, in a room, let alone if there was anything else in here with him.

Somehow, however, he got the strange feeling that he was in a room of some kind, and was lying flat on his back. He wasn't uncomfortable, but he was extremely restless and felt an extreme desire to move around, or at the very least to shift his body slightly from his stationary position.

Whenever he attempted any movement, however, came the pain. Extreme, massive amounts of pain of every sort of variety. Cutting, slashing, slicing pains, like thousands of knives, shot up his arms and legs; and extreme pounding and bludgeoning around his head and shoulders; an excruciating burning heat around his chest and torso, while simultaneously a cold so freezing it was burning around his upper and lower extremities. All combined, they amounted to the worst possible pain he had ever felt, or could ever imagine in his entire life–a thousand times worse than the Cruciatus Curse. He tried to scream out in pain and agony, or at the very least, retch from the pain, yet it seemed to him that his mouth was somehow clamped shut, because he was unable to scream, or retch, and he had yet to lose any, let alone all, of his mental faculties. So he surely wasn't being tortured into insanity like Frank and Alice Longbottom had; and besides, he thought ruefully to himself, surely, if Bella had wanted to capture and torture him, she would've wanted him totally conscious and aware of his surroundings during the event so she could taunt him all the while. And so he remained lying down (or so he thought), stationary, waiting whatever fate was his, all the while waiting and hoping for this Merlin-be damned pain to ebb.

Slowly, very slowly, the pain started to ebb. Little by little, in small amounts at first, until it was nearly gone and completely manageable. Next, just as slowly, light crept into his eyes which were closed. Gradually, the brightness forced his eyelids open, ever so slowly, so that he could see where he was, albeit a bit blearily. He blinked rapidly for a few moments, allowing the bleariness to leave his eyes, as he took in his surroundings. He was indeed lying flat on his back, on a rather plush feather bed, in a large room.

The room, he noticed, was very large, and very open and airy. It looked, to him, like something that came out of those muggle films about ancient Greece or Rome; large, high plastered walls and ceilings, with large windows (without glasses), as well as large arches and colonnades lining every wall. Through the windows, as well as the arches and spaces between the columns, a light, warm very pleasant breeze was blowing softly keeping the room at the perfect temperature.

The walls themselves were very well-made and sturdy looking, yet at the same time they seemed to almost be works of art in and of themselves. They were cleanly plastered and painted white for about the top two-thirds of the wall, the bottom third being decorated with beautiful mosaic tile in bright colours, making mosaics, murals and frescoes of various designs and intricacies, yet seemingly all fitting together into one, cohesive piece of art. Around the doorways, windowsills and archways there were similar tiling; they were of much simpler designs.

Sirius looked around in wonder at his current surroundings, utterly gobsmacked. He wasn't in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, that was for sure. And he wasn't in St. Mungo's or the Ministry, either. And while he could never be sure, he assumed that Voldemort wasn't one to have his headquarters in such warm and sunny places. As he looked around, he moved his head and torso to get a better view of his surroundings from his current vantage point. In so doing, he realised that he was able to move his body from its stationary position on the bed; yet at the same time, he groaned (also realising he could use his mouth again), as the pain returned for a brief second before receding once again.

Shortly after his groaning in pain, a tall woman, with hip-length straight black hair, grey eyes and a slightly tanned complexion skirted through a small door on the far opposite end of the room (which was empty except for Sirius, his bed, and a few odds and ends here and there), from what he assumed was another room. In a few very quick, gliding steps, that seemed to cover more ground at a quicker pace than a normal human should, she was at his bedside, looking down at him wearing a concerned, yet relieved look on her face.

'So you are awake then, Sirius Black,' she said in a calming, vaguely melodic voice. It wasn't a question.

'Who...who are you? You're not Madam Pomfrey...and...where...where am I? This isn't the hospital wing...,' Sirius mustered in reply, his voice rising in fear and anticipation.

'Be still now, Sirius Black. You are in no danger here. You are correct that this is not your infirmary and I am not Poppy Pomfrey. You must rest, and when you regain your strength, we will send you back on your travels,' she said sagely.

'But I don't...how can...Who the ruddy hell are you?!' Sirius demanded, fear, anxiety and confusion being replaced by worry and anger.

'You would not be able to utter my real name, for your tongue cannot make the proper sounds; however, I do have another name. I am called Orbona,' she said simply, smiling deeply. She then began to raise her hands around Sirius's face and body in exceedingly intricate patterns, in much the way Sirius had seen Madam Pomfrey do for him many times during his years at Hogwarts. As she ran her hands around his head and body, he began to feel much better as well as extremely drowsy.

'What are you doing?' he demanded, worried.

'I am healing you, Sirius Black,' she stated simply.

'You can't,' he stated firmly, trying to hide his shock at the implications.

'Why not? Do you not wish to be healed?' she asked.

'What? Of course I bloody well want to be healed!' Sirius cried. 'But you can't be healing me–you're not using a wand, and I think I'd remember swallowing potions in the last minute and a half!'

'A wand?' Orbona asked, chuckling lightly. 'Sirius Black, I have no need of a wand. I was practising magic long before you invented wands. I am healing you just fine. Now you must sleep.'

'But that's impossible!' Sirius continued, unphased. 'If you've been practising magic since before wands, you would have to be well over three thousand years old, but you can't be. I mean, you don't look a day over twenty-five,' he continued, gaining back some semblance of his normal, flirtatious personality.

'I assure you, Sirius Black, that I am that old and more. However, when you are given certain...gifts... such as I have, you learn that one must not always look their age,' she said in a voice that reminded Sirius vaguely of Professor Dumbledore.

'But no one can live that long!'

'No, they cannot'

'Then, that means that you...then if you're...then I must be... Am I dead, Orbona?'

'No, Sirius Black, you are not dead,' she said simply, and continued with her healing.

'But how? I fell through the veil, shouldn't I...well...be...dead?'

'That is a complicated question, Sirius Black. If it were your time, yes, you should be dead. However, it was not your time, that is why I am here. I must heal you so that you can be on your way. You must get back to young Harry Potter.'

'HARRY!' Sirius practically screamed. 'How is he? Is he alright? Where is he? What's going on?' Sirius's questions fired off nearly non-stop for nearly a minute before Orbona was able to calm him down enough to where she could talk.

'Young Harry Potter is fine. I cannot answer those questions for you anymore than that, suffice it to say that he is safe, but he needs you, Sirius Black.'

Sirius didn't know what it was, but at that moment, his body finally relaxed and complied with whatever spells Orbona was using on him, and he gave in, once again, to the comforting blackness of sleep.

When Sirius awoke some time later, the first thing he realised was that he was in the same room as before, in the same bed, and that Orbona was sitting next to his bed in a very comfortable looking chair, reading a book. He couldn't tell what book it was, because the cover had no title, and it was bound entirely in deep, black leather, and the binding on the spine had writing on it, but it was entirely in a language he did not recognise.

When she realised he was stirring, he marked her page and placed the book down on a bedside table that he had not realised was there until now. Either that, or it had just been conjured for precisely this purpose, he thought, but it didn't really matter, as he was pulled from his reverie by Orbona's melodic voice.

'So you have awakened again, Sirius Black?'

'Erm, yes?' He said, a bit unnerved by her strangely musical voice and strange mannerisms.

'Good. You have been asleep a long time, and there is much to do,' she said brusquely, standing up.

'Wait!' Sirius cried. 'A long time...how long is a long time?' he asked, worry clearly marked on his face, as well as his voice, since Orbona smiled warmly at him as she replied,

'You have been asleep for five of your days, Sirius Black.'

Five days? Sirius thought. What the hell did I do that needed her to heal me so that I would sleep for 5 straight bloody days? He thought bitterly. Wait he added. Not just five days, but five of my days, whatever the bloody hell that means...

'Wait...what...' he began, but Orbona cut him off with a finger to his lips and a coy smile.

'You have many questions, Sirius Black, and they will all be answered. If not immediately, in due time, believe me. But for now, you have visitors,' she said as she left his bedside, and opened the small door on the far side of the room that he had noticed the other night, which he assumed led to another room.

Sirius laid his head back down on the pillow to wait for whatever surprise 'visitors' he had, subconsciously caressing his wand, which he had found on his bedside table. Whatever was about to happen, he would be ready, he thought. When he had just nearly relaxed enough to close his eyes and drift in and out of a light sleep, he heard a deep tenor voice, ringing with laughter that he hadn't heard in nearly fifteen years.

'Merlin, Padfoot! What the hell happened to you? You look like shite!'

Sirius shot straight up from his pillow, instantly awake, gazing wide-eyed at the face of his very healthy looking, and very much long-dead best friend, James Potter, and his wife, Lily.

'Prongs?' He asked tremulously. 'Is that you?'

'The one and only!' James replied boisterously, laughing heartily, while beside him, Lily did her best to cover her smirking face with her free hand that wasn't holding onto James's arm.

Sirius's eyes widened in shock. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. Delirious, even. A side effect of all the pain he was feeling, surely. Either that or...No, he couldn't think that way, he told himself. He couldn't be dead. He was still conscious of himself, and everything around him, after all. And besides, Orbona told him he wasn't dead. He just couldn't be dead, Harry needed him. And if he was dead...well, Harry was going to be a very unpleasant young man for a long time.

'You can't be, Prongs,' he muttered, more to himself than to James.

'I can't be what?'

'Here'

'Well, why not? I am here, after all.'

'You can't, though...can you?'

'Why not?'

'Well, Prongs, you are dead, are you not? And you, too, Lils,'

'Quite. Unfortunately,' James said glumly. He obviously didn't like being here, wherever here was, when his son was still alive, needing a father. Sirius also saw a frown shadow on Lily's face before she shoved it away and plastered a sincere looking smile on her face. The kind of smile that said, without any effort, 'it's so good to see you, Sirius'.

'Then how are you here?'

'Because we are needed. We need to talk to you, Sirius, and give some things to you to bring back with you. Yes, you're going back,' Lily said, noticing his shocked, disbelieving face. Sirius still couldn't believe it, of course.

'I still can't believe this...,' he muttered to himself for a moment, before turning on James and said, 'Prove it, Prongs. Tell me something only you and I would know.'

'I know you loved my Mum's mince pies,' James said playfully, 'When no one else ever did. She makes them just for you, you know,' he said, still taking the mickey.

'James Andrew Potter, be nice!' Lily admonished her husband. Even in death, it seemed, they lived on just as they were in life. 'Your mother is a lovely woman and a wonderful cook. Don't listen to him, Sirius,' she added as an afterthought.

'No, not anything like that. Something more serious, something important,' Sirius said, quickly, not truly convinced this was really James and Lily.

'Alright, let's see here, let me think...ah yes, I've got it,' James said, playfully scratching his non- existent beard as if he were truly deep in thought. 'When Lily found about what we did for Remus and his furry little problem, we got in a huge fight, and she didn't make up for days. We only did about a week later, when you locked us in a broom cupboard on the third floor,' he added, smiling. 'Is that good enough for you?' James teased.

Sirius could only nod, completely gob smacked. He was actually talking to his long-dead friends. He was actually talking to James and Lily. As soon as his heart (and the rest of his body) caught up with his head and realised what was going on, and that it was really happening, a face-splitting grin broke out across his face, and he let out one of his great, barking laughs; grabbing James and Lily both in a tight hug. He didn't know how he knew he'd be able to actually touch, let alone hold, them, but he just did. They were still dead, after all, so he had no way of knowing whether he could or not, but for some reason he knew they weren't ghosts, and he somehow just knew that he would be able to hug them as tightly as he was.

Not long after they broke the hug, they fell into a normal conversation, as if it hadn't been interrupted for fifteen years by the Potters' deaths and his imprisonment in Azkaban; no one would think anything out of the ordinary of it. Soon, however, conversation caught up, things turned serious once again.

'Where am I, Prongs?' Sirius asked, seriously.

'You're in the realm of passing, Sirius. Beyond the veil.'

'So, it's true, then? I'm...dead?'

'WHAT?!' James asked in surprise, before laughing like mad for a few moments, before sobering enough to answer his friend's question, while Sirius was shooting him daggers from the spot where he lay.

'No, Padfoot, you aren't dead. Most that come here are, but that's because it is their time to die when they enter the realm of passing. For you, my friend, it wasn't your time, so you didn't die. I mean, after all, it's just a curtain. A bloody curtain, Sirius. I never would have thought the great Sirius Black, champion dueller, could be killed by draperies,' he added, teasing.

Sirius grumbled something incoherent, but that was definitely not the most polite of things to say, before Lily, who scowled momentarily at her husband, cut in to prevent any more teasing.

'Sirius, you know that after Hogwarts, before Harry was born and we joined the Order full time I was working as an Unspeakable, right?'

'Yes'

'Well, let me tell you something, Sirius, and maybe it will help to explain what happened. I was working on research on the veil, and death in general for my latest assignment before I resigned. When I was home pregnant, and when we were in hiding, I still occupied my time doing independent research, but it wasn't the same,' she said, sighing.

'Anyway, this veil is a lot more than what it appears to be. It isn't the portal to the realm of the dead, as many seem to think. Well, it is and it isn't. The thing of it is that, a long, long time ago, before even Merlin was around, there were two archways like this: this one, and another one located not too far from here, and they acted as...doorways, of sorts.

'You see, it's not a portal to the realm of the dead, necessarily, as you found out. The two archways functioned as a sort of door, each one being the other side of the door. The one we have here was the 'in' door, and the other one was the 'out' door. When both were intact, it was never viewed as a way to kill someone, or as an execution device or anything of the sort. It was a method to commune with the dead, especially loved ones who had passed on.

'The person who wanted to commune with their loved ones would purify themselves in some way, or somehow make themselves 'worthy' to speak with the dead and be able to come out again; then they would walk through the portal. When they came through, they would come here, the Realm of Passing, which is sort of a middle of the way, meeting area between worlds, you could say, to meet with their loved ones. When they were done, they would rest here and come out the other side through the other portal. The spirits of the dead would also use that portal once a year, on Halloween, to come to the land of the living and commune with their living loved ones, and descendants. This is the way it was for a very long time.

'It wasn't seen as a view of death or a death sentence to pass through until much later, when Lucius I converted, and thus all of England did too, to Christianity from the old religions. He wasn't a wizard, but back then all the muggles knew all about magic, after all, it was everywhere, before the international statute of secrecy. But anyway, he knew about the two portals, and wanted them destroyed. He had the 'outdoor' portal destroyed, and when the archway itself was smashed, its magical core dissipated. This one was never destroyed, the magical community was able to get him to let us build the first Ministry of Magic building over this spot for this reason at that time, in an attempt to save it, as well as other things. But without the other archway, it was increasingly difficult to pass back to the world of the living, and eventually people forgot it was a possibility, until everyone believed it was a direct death chamber, and whoever passed through immediately gave up and died,' she summarised, pausing to take a breath, as Sirius and James both looked at her wide-eyed, gobsmacked from all the knowledge. She continued on,

'It became nearly impossible, however, for those dead to pass from the Realm of the Dead or the Realm of Passing to the Land of the Living, once again, unfortunately. Otherwise, we would've checked up on Harry ourselves. However, it is still possible for one who is living to still pass between, if they have pure intentions, purpose, and soul. The magic is still there, just not as concentrated as it once was before. And you, Sirius Black, have the pure soul and purpose needed. You 'died' saving our son from danger, yet again, and you need to go back so you can be there for him, to be the father figure he needs, especially after all that my sister-,' she paused, sniffing furiously, fighting back the tears of anger and betrayal at Petunia Dursley, that she would not let fall, before continuing. 'That my sister and that oaf of her husband, and even Dumbledore, for all his good intentions, have done for him, in denying him that simple joy. He needs you, Sirius, you need to go back for him, for us. Go back and help my baby,' she said, her heart swimming in her eyes, emotions taught in her voice, pleading very evident. Sirius stared at her, gobsmacked, not knowing what to say, or how they even knew.

'We've been scrying you, and Remus, and Harry ever since we passed through,' James said, answering his unanswered question. 'Please, Padfoot. You need to get back. Harry needs his godfather, now more than ever,' he said, his voice, too, raw with emotion. Sirius just nodded dumbly, as if there was ever any doubt anyway, he thought to himself, getting up from his bed.

'How do I get out of here?' he asked.

'Leave that to us,' Lily said, ushering him over to the centre of the room. 'But first, take these. Take them back to Remus, Harry and Dumbledore. There's one for each of you, and two for Dumbledore. Don't give Harry his until the time is right,' she said, adding quickly, 'Don't worry, you'll know when that is. Dumbledore and Remus should have theirs right away. And Dumbledore, I assume, will be rather expecting these,' she said, handing over not one, but two phials of a substance that looked nearly identical to memories in a Pensieve over to him.

The only difference was that the phials were not the normal clear crystal ones, but a dark, obsidian black colour, that seemed to shimmer in the light in a very crystalline nature; they were tall and octagonal in shape, and the stopper fit snugly on the top without any rim or lip to it, unlike any other phial he had seen. There was what appeared to be faint writing on it, too, however, he couldn't read it as it seemed to be the same unfamiliar tongue as the book Orbona was reading earlier; and the text seemed to be constantly floating and moving, and writhing about around the phial's surface. Sirius took them hesitantly, but nodded resolutely, and looked around, seeing James, Lily and, to his surprise, Orbona looking back at him, smiling bittersweetly at him.

'Did you find the answers you were looking for, Sirius Black?' she asked him. He nodded his head dumbly and said,

'Yes.'

'Good,' she replied. 'Then it is time to return to Harry Potter and the Realm of the Living. Goodbye, Sirius Black.' As she said that, she drew a long, thin, black wand, and James and Lily also drew their wands and pointed them at his chest.

'Goodbye, old friend,' James said to Sirius, as he glanced sidelong at his wife, who replied,

'I'm sure we'll see you eventually. But hopefully for not some time yet. And maybe, if we're lucky, the next time we meet, you'll have a wife to introduce us to,' she added, laughing brightly, and Sirius and James joined in the contagious behaviour, and before Sirius could notice what happened, he was standing, alone, and cold in the middle of a stone circle in the middle of a large field.

Looking around, he noticed that he recognised where he was, after all. Stonehenge. Wiltshire. Not terribly far from Surrey. He knew what he had to do, and where he was going.

'I guess this is where Padfoot returns, huh?' he half said, half asked to no one in particular, before changing back into a large, shaggy black dog, and trotting off across the darkened field.


	3. Ch 3

Chapter 1 In which new friends are made and Advice is given

'BOY!'

Harry Potter woke up to the sound of his uncle hollering at him early that morning, which was very inconvenient for Harry, considering he had just recently managed to finally fall asleep, and was having a rather enjoyable dream , and, considering how little sleep he had been getting the past few days, he really needed the rest. But time waits for no one, least of all Harry Potter when his uncle is hungry for his breakfast.

'BOY!' he cried again. 'You have five minutes to get down here and start the breakfast!'

Reluctantly, Harry rolled out of bed and felt around for his glasses on his nightstand. His vision sufficiently aided, he quickly went about the room throwing on some clothes. He didn't really pay attention to which ones they were, just the closest at hand. After all, he wasn't going to be going anywhere or need to impress anyone. He was just going down to the kitchen to cook his relatives their breakfast. He threw on a day old t-shirt and a relatively clean pair of trousers; clean looking socks, and as he headed out the door of his room to the stairs, hopped along the corridor while attempting to throw on his trainers as he walked. When Harry entered the kitchen, Dudley, of course, was nowhere to be seen, as he was still sound asleep, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were in their usual places around the kitchen table. Vernon was already a lovely shade of puce, and Harry hadn't even 'done' anything yet that day. He'd barely just woken up! _This day is turning out to be a real lark_, he thought mournfully to himself. _Haven't been up five minutes and already he's angry!_

'Four minutes, fifty-eight seconds, boy. What took you so long?' Vernon demanded brusquely looking up from his watch, his face hidden behind the morning paper.

'I had to get dressed, Uncle Vernon,' Harry said in as placating a voice as he could muster. He didn't want any more trouble than he already had. 'Something tells me neither you nor the neighbours would have appreciated the sight of me coming down to cook breakfast starkers,' he added, in as non-sarcastic a voice as he could manage.

'Yes, well,' Vernon seethed. 'Your Aunt and I are going out for the day. You need to cook the breakfast and then you are to do your chores and keep out of Dudley's way. He's having some of the lads 'round for tea, and I won't have you interrupting them. And if I hear one word of any of your kind's freaky _unnaturalness_ I swear...,' he said, trailing off and never finishing his very real threat, leaving it hanging in the air as his nephew made his way over to the stove to start cooking his eggs and bacon.

One hour, fifteen minutes, and three rashers of bacon later, Petunia and Vernon Dursley were on their way to whatever their destination might have been, Harry having been relegated to the kitchen until the dishes were washed and put away, having had only a meagre breakfast of two slices of toast and scraps of burnt bacon.

Before they left, however, Vernon was quite sure to remind him of all the chores he had to complete before they returned, to stay out of the way of Dudley and his gang when they came over 'for tea' supposedly, even though he knew in reality that they were more than likely going to be doing drugs and drinking and possibly other things that, were it anyone but Dudley, Vernon would be adamant about how it was 'degrading, morally bankrupt behaviour'. He also made absolutely certain to reiterate about twenty times that under no circumstances would there be any of his _funny business_ and if there was, he wouldn't like the results when Vernon got home.

Harry hurried through the rest of the morning chores that he was set, which actually took him well into mid-morning, and nearly to noon until he was finished. It was also around noon, after he had finally showered and dressed properly, that Dudley had finally woken up. Unfortunately for Harry, a day was not complete for his cousin without trying to bait and torture Harry; fortunately, however, he was still terrified of him and his wand, so Dudley's bark was always much worse than his bite. This was no truer today, when, after a few angry grunts and demanding of food, which Harry informed his protuberant cousin was in the fridge, Harry was left to his own devices to go on his way and brood, as he had begun to do every day.

Finally able to leave the suffocating confines of the house he was forced to live in during the summer months until he was able to go to the Weasleys', Harry made his way over to the park on Wisteria Walk, just as he had nearly every day for the past two summers. He ignored the hateful and judgemental glares from the old biddies tending their gardens and all the neighbours of the Dursleys' furiously whispering fresh gossip–no doubt about him–as he passed as he made his way to the park to sit on the swing and brood as he had become customary for him.

Normally, when he went to the park for the day he was trailed, and sometimes even engaged in conversation by one of the members of the Order who was keeping watch over him these days on Dumbledore's orders. Usually it was Tonks, but sometimes it was Hestia Jones or Dedalus Diggle, and once it had been even Mundungus Fletcher. Harry hated it when they followed him and tried to talk to him; it wasn't that he disliked any of them, in fact, he liked all of them as individuals, with the possible exception of Dung. But they all tried to talk and joke around with him, and he was far from in the mood to do any of those things: he wanted to be alone, and to brood, and if he was honest with himself, to force himself to get used to being alone so he wouldn't feel bad when he forcibly pushed his friends away. Today, however, was different. None of the Order members followed him, not even Tonks; and they weren't just wearing an invisibility cloak. Usually they were too loud, and Tonks was too clumsy to stay unnoticed even when wearing a cloak. They just weren't following him, _for once_, he thought, which was just fine by him.

When he finally arrived to the park on Wisteria Walk, most of the Muggles who were there gave him wide berth, and they all seemingly believed the lies his uncle told them about him, so they didn't want to get in his way, apparently, lest he go berserk and stab them in broad daylight or some such nonsense. However, after years of being treated like this, he was finally getting used to it, and today he was just happy that it meant he didn't have to fight his way to the swings where he could sit and rock, and brood for hours without being bothered.

It was a lovely summer's day in Surrey, as Harry sat on the swings in Wisteria Walk's park, but he was not paying attention. The sun was shining, and not a cloud was in the sky. Children both young and old, as well as adults accompanying them, all talked and screamed and ran and played in the park, enjoying the sunny, warm weather. Harry, of course, noticed none of it. He was too consumed with grief, and blaming himself to really notice anything else. He would physically see what was happening around him, of course, but he neither cared nor made any of what he saw register in his mind for more than a matter of seconds. His thoughts were consumed solely and completely on one Sirius Black. And, perhaps, a certain redhead as well, he would have to admit, if he were to be completely honest with himself.

On one of the rare moments when he was paying attention, he saw ever the briefest flash of bubble-gum pink hair before it disappeared in thin air, and then a few moments later the edge of a studded leather boot again appearing to emerge from thin air, before it, too vanished from whence it came. So, Harry thought, Tonks is on Harry duty today. Harry Duty was the condescending nickname he had given the unglamourous, yet in the eyes of Professor Dumbledore, extremely necessary task of 'guarding' him, especially given the events of the previous year. He strained his ears to hear the extremely quiet but not quite silent footsteps of Tonks as she readjusted herself under what was obviously an invisibility cloak, trying to gauge where she was standing, and he guessed it was somewhere very close by, but just slightly behind him.

'I know you're there, Tonks,' he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, so only she could hear and any casual onlooker wouldn't think him nutters for talking to himself. Tonks swore violently in response, yet somehow managed to match his near-silent, cautious tone.

'Wotcher, Harry,' she finally said, still just as quietly. 'How are you holding up, Duck?'

'How do you think I'm holding up, Tonks?' Harry countered, a tad unnecessarily.

'Right. Dumb question. Sorry, Harry,' she said. Harry immediately felt bad for being so harsh and apologised.

'Sorry, Tonks. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just with everything going on...,' he said.

'I know, Harry. Don't worry about it. I miss him too. But we'll get over it, eventually,' she said, not unkindly. Harry didn't want to get over him, of course. He wanted to feel bad, and guilty and shameful for causing his godfather's death, because, Merlin Knows, he deserved it. Or so he thought, anyway. He didn't voice any of this to Tonks, of course, but rather just gave a non-committal grunt of recognition.

'Think about it this way, Harry,' Tonks said, in what Harry was sure would have been a cheerful, reassuring voice if their conversation wasn't being furiously whispered to avoid suspicious muggle onlookers. 'Sirius died doing the one thing he wanted to do more than anything else: help to defend you, and fight Death Eaters at the same time. Not many people can say that,' she chuckled, before adding, 'and besides, I think if Sirius were here, he would want you to mourn his death differently than you are. Think about it, and I'm sure you'll realise I'm right,' she said, and with that, the conversation ended as abruptly as it had started. And it was a good thing, too, because almost immediately after Tonks's furiously whispered reply, a young woman around Harry's age came and sat down on the swing next to him.

She was tall, seemingly athletic and well toned. She seemed all around properly fit, and Harry knew he would have found her rather attractive were he not already smitten (though he wouldn't admit it to anyone but himself) with a certain red-haired Weasley. She had small, almond-shaped bright blue eyes that radiated warmth and friendliness that cannot be exposed through actions. She had long, dirty blonde hair that she wore in no particular style and fell down around her head and down midway down her back, framing her face nicely. She was around Harry's age, perhaps two or three years older, at most, and she radiated a friendly, fun-loving aura wherever she went that just seemed to ooze from her as if it were second nature, and not something she was aware of. The only other people Harry had ever sensed this kind of a personality in were the Twins, and he knew that if they were to meet, even though she was a Muggle, they would all get along swimmingly. The fact that she was a Muggle went without saying; that, too, was blatantly obvious. She wore skin-tight, but not terribly revealing cut-off jean shorts, and a blue and white t-shirt proclaiming her support for the Chelsea Football Club. She, too, seemed not to be paying too much attention to the world around her, and instead seemed to be immersed in something supremely interesting in her own thoughts. However, unlike Harry, she was also seemingly rather happy, and smiled quite broadly all the while, whereas Harry was determinedly unhappy and scowling.

Eventually, she noticed Harry watching her from the corner of his eye and turned in her seat in the swing and smiled at him, asking, 'What's wrong, Charlie Brown?'

'Huh? I think you've got the wrong bloke,' Harry managed to murmur, once he realised that not only had she noticed him studying her, but was engaging him in conversation.

'What? Oh, no. I know Charlie Brown isn't your real name. Well, actually, no, I don't, but I figured it was a safe assumption. No one's named Charlie Brown anymore. It's something my dad always used to say to me when I was sad like that,' she said, motioning none-too-subtly at Harry's scowling face. 'You know, like Charlie Brown, the Peanuts character? I always thought it was funny 'cos it sort of rhymes, you know?'

'Oh, erm, yeah I guess,' Harry said, noncommittally.

'So, my new friend, whose name isn't, in fact, Charlie Brown,' she said, in a vaguely sing-song voice, 'what's with the frown? Why so sad? It's a beautiful day, the sun is shining, we're outside enjoying it instead of inside and it's the first days of the summer holidays. Why are you so blue?'

Harry murmured something generally incomprehensible, which sounded something like 'I wish it wasn't the summer holidays'.

'I'm sorry?' the girl said, before continuing. 'I'm Ellie, by the way. My real name is Elizabeth; Elizabeth Watson, but I hate that name, and nobody calls me that, except my Mum, and only when I've really cheesed her off. Most people call me Lizzy or Ellie. I prefer Ellie,' she said, in her pleasant, rambling voice.

'Harry,' Harry said, extending his hand. 'Harry Potter.'

'Pleased to meet you, Harry,' Ellie said.

'Pleasure to meet you, too, Ellie,' Harry said, thankful he avoided her query for the moment.  
'So, Harry Potter,' Ellie said. 'You never answered my question. What's bothering you?' she asked, looking around and for the first time seeing all the scowling and mean faces looking at Harry from all the old biddies and stay-at-home-Mums at the play park with their children.

'They really don't like you, do they?' she said, motioning with her head at all the people scowling at them.

'No, I imagine they don't. One of the many reasons why I don't like coming back here,' he said in a bored tone.

'Coming back here? What do you mean? Don't you live here?'

'During the summer. And even then I usually manage to get to stay with friends after a couple of weeks,' Harry said. 'I don't live here year 'round. I go to school in Scotland, so I stay there most of the year.'

'Scotland, huh? That's brilliant! I love Scotland. I went there on holiday a couple of times. Edinburgh is brilliant, isn't it?'

'I don't know, I've never been,' Harry said. 'My school is in the Highlands, in the middle of nowhere. The closest town in over a mile away and nobody's ever heard of it unless you live there or went to my school.'

'Oh, well that's pretty cool, I guess,' Ellie said. 'I like the countryside well enough, but I'm more of a city girl, myself. That's why I was really cheesed when we moved here,' she said.

'What do you mean?' Harry asked.

'Well, my family just moved here because of my dad's work. He's a Professor, you see, and just got a lectureship at Royal Holloway. We were living in London before this, but Dad moved us out here to Surrey. And I wanted to at least stay at my old school, and I could have–I could have taken that train into London every day and stayed at St. James for my last year and taken my A-Levels there, but Dad said that Stonewall High was a very good school for Sixth Form and that I would be better off taking my A-Levels here, anyway, so he nixed that idea too. But I guess it's not so bad. Surrey's growing on me a bit, you know,' she said. 'But going back to you, why don't they like you? You don't seem like the 'bad kid' type. What's their deal?'

'I dunno, to be honest,' Harry said. 'It probably has something to do with the fact that my aunt and uncle spread rumours and lies about me going to school at St. Brutus' School for Incurably Criminal Boys,' he said. 'Or one of the many other horrible things they say about me. It's one of the reasons I hate coming back for the summer holidays. I wish I could just stay at school.'

'I knew there was something else there, Harry,' she said. 'You don't look the part of the bookworm, no offence,' she said.

'None taken,' Harry replied, chuckling.

'That's awful about your Aunt and Uncle, though, Harry. Don't your Mum and Dad do anything about it?' Harry closed his eyes ever so briefly and took a short, yet deep breath that went unnoticed by Ellie, before replying,

'I'm sure they would, if they could. But it's hard to do anything when you're dead.'

Ellie gasped audibly and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with shock and remorse before replying.

'Oh my God, Harry. I didn't know! I'm so sorry!'

'It's alright, Ellie. You didn't know.'

'When?' she asked politely.

'A long time ago. I was fifteen months old when it happened. And now I live with my aunt and uncle because they're the only family I have left.'

'I'm so sorry, Harry. How awful!'

'I guess. I never really knew my parents, so I have nothing to compare to,' he said. _That's not completely true, Harry Potter_, the voice in his head said. _You had Sirius, so you know what to compare the Dursleys to. You had him, but you lost him._

'Still,' Ellie was saying, 'that's awfully sad. And they spread rumours about you?! How terrible! How could they do that to you?'

'Believe me, Ellie, if I knew that, a lot of my problems would be solved,' he said.

'But to their own nephew!? You're their family, after all! And they treat you like that?!'

'Yes, well they don't exactly see me as family. They see me more as a burden than anything else, and treat me as little more than a common servant or dirt, as the case may be. They hate me. They've always hated me, just for the fact that I exist.'

'I'm sure they don't hate you, Harry. I know they must be awful people, but I don't think...'

'They _hate_ me,' Harry said in a voice so strong and firm it would brook no arguments. Ellie just stared at him for a while before giving him a small, supportive smile. _Not too different to the ones Ginny gives me_, Harry thought to himself, before banishing that thought to the 'Thoughts I am not allowed to have' folder in his mind. He sighed audibly and shuffled in his seat in the swing, staring down at his trainers, kicking the gravel softly, trying to stop himself from thinking of the one person he really wanted to think about, or the events and people he really had no desire to think about ever again. After a few moments of silence, Ellie broke the silence.

'Harry?' she asked. 'How did they die? Your parents, I mean.'

'They were killed. Murdered in cold blood by a terrorist. And I would have died that night too if my Mum hadn't gotten in his way trying to save me. As it turns out, the bloke's gun backfired for some reason when he tried to shoot me–you know, make a clean job of it, no survivors–and he got shot instead. For a long time, people thought he was dead too, but apparently, he was just wounded really badly, but managed to get away and recuperate in hiding, where he's been for the past fifteen years. He came out of hiding at the end of the last school year, though, and ever since he's been after me, trying to correct his mistake or whatever,' he said glumly, yet matter-of-factly. If he weren't still looking intently at his trainers, he would have seen the shell shocked face of his new friend, Ellie, just staring at him in disbelief. Instead, Harry just ploughed forward with his story. He had begun his tale, and now he felt he needed to finish it in order to be fair and understood. He told her the whole, true story of Harry Potter–well, at least all he could tell her without revealing the wizarding world or magic. He edited and changed a lot of the details along the way to what he considered their Muggle equivalents, but all in all, she had a good understanding of what he had been through.

'...And so I thought that I might be able to come stay with Sirius this year in London instead of coming back here, but since he's dead–well, at least we think he's dead; no one's found his body to either confirm or deny it–I don't think that's going to be happening any time soon,' he finished glumly.

To say Ellie was shell-shocked was an understatement. She was absolutely gobsmacked that this shy, friendly and hurting boy, her new but good friend, had been through so much. But she was nothing if not a good listener and good friend, so she summoned all her stoicism she could muster and replied,

'That's so awful, Harry. You've been through so much! It's just not fair!'

'Tell me about it,' Harry said, laughing bitterly. Ellie narrowed her eyes at him in a way that reminded him very much of Hermione, whom he also missed, he had to admit. _Pushing them away is going to be harder than I thought_, he thought to himself. Ellie, however, ploughed on, unfazed.

'And he's gone now, and you haven't even had time to mourn him properly, and you're already back with those wretched Dursleys?! How horrible!'

'Somehow,' Harry said, sniggering, 'I think that Sirius's idea of 'mourning him properly' would involve me, a hot tub, as many attractive women as possible, and a whole case of Jameson Irish Whiskey,' Harry said, barely containing his mirth. Ellie, too, he could tell, was barely containing her laughter when they heard a very faint, stifled snort of laughter. They immediately turned to the source of the sound, and saw nothing. Harry, of course, knew it was Tonks, and was wide-eyed in shock and fear, as was Ellie, but for a completely different reason.

'Did you hear that?' she asked, a tad worriedly.

'What? Yeah, did you?' Harry asked, a bit dumbly, in an attempt to play off the idea that he had no idea that there was a fully grown witch, who happened to be a trained Auror standing just behind them beneath an invisibility cloak.

'What was it, do you think?' she asked.

'I don't know, probably nothing,' Harry said. 'Maybe it was just someone off over there,' he said, motioning with his head to a group of kids about their age sitting on the jungle gym laughing and horsing around, 'made a joke or something and it was one of them laughing'  
'We would have heard them though, wouldn't we?'

'Well, maybe...,' Harry said, his voice a bit more urgent now. He couldn't reveal anything more than he already had. Not now. 'Maybe someone is in the bushes over there,' he said pointing to the bushes not far from the swing set, 'hiding or something and they're laughing at something not relating to our conversation?' he said, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. Apparently, however, it worked, since Ellie visibly relaxed as she agreed with him.

'Yeah, you're probably right, Harry. I don't know what I was so worried about'.

_I do_. The voice in Harry's head said. _I nearly revealed the entire existence of the wizarding world on some poor, unsuspecting muggle because Tonks thinks I'm being funny._ He eyed the empty space where he knew Tonks was and flashed her a very brief but very dirty look, and he knew had he been able to see her she would be properly chastised, before looking away just as quickly.

Ellie, very quick on the uptake, narrowed her eyes at him and winked before asking,  
'And you don't like that idea?'

If Harry had been drinking or eating anything at that moment, he would have lost it as he spat and spluttered as he tried to regain his composure from her question.

'What?'

'Well, you said that would be Sirius' idea of mourning him properly. But I get the idea that it's not yours?'

'Well...erm...,' Harry stalled, trying to think of a way out of this conundrum. 'I'd really just rather have Sirius back,' he said in what he hoped was a convincing tone. Unfortunately, Ellie wasn't put off at all.

'Well, obviously,' she stated rather bluntly. 'But I meant that you don't particularly like the idea of being surrounded by many attractive birds and lots of alcohol. What's your deal? You don't play for the other team, do you?'

'What?! No! Of course not!' Harry quickly said, rather defensively.

'Then what is it?'

'I...I just don't have that much experience with girls, is all. I...wouldn't know what to do,' he said dumbly. It was at least partially true, he told himself.

'I see...,' was all that Ellie said, narrowing her eyes at him intently, in a very Hermione-esque way. After a long minute or two of awkward silence, she opened her eyes again, and smiled broadly, her eyes twinkling with mirth as she asked, 'So...what's her name?'

'Huh?' Harry said dumbly, his brain frantic as to how he could have let anything on. He was sure he didn't let anything but the facts about Ginny slip.

'The girl you're seeing.'

'I'm not seeing anyone.'

'Well you could've fooled me. Most blokes would jump at the chance you described...hell, even most blokes who are seeing someone would. But you're not. You're obviously smitten with someone,' she said coyly.

'I am not smitten!' Harry said defensively. 'We haven't even started dating yet!'

'AHA!' Ellie crowed triumphantly. 'So there IS someone!'

_Damn._ The voice inside Harry's head swore loudly, and enough to make Mad-Eye Moody blush. _I walked right into that. Well, I can't go back on it now, anyway,_ the voice said again, resigning himself to his fate as Ellie continued her inquisition.

'So, when did you start dating?'

'We haven't, I told you'

'Oh, right. Well, how long ago did you ask her out?'

'I haven't yet.'

'But you want to right?'

'Yes. Well, no. Erm, yes and no. It's complicated.'

'What's so complicated about it?'

'Its just complicated, alright?!' Harry said forcefully, rather a bit agitated by the turn this conversation was taking.

'Alright, alright,' Ellie said. 'No need to get snippy. Can you at least tell me her name?'

'That's part of the reason why it's so complicated, Ellie.'

'What do you mean?'

Harry sighed deeply, resigning himself to the fact that, like Hermione, Ellie would not be satisfied until she knew all the facts, and this would require him to tell her things he'd rather keep and sort out himself. Unfortunately, unless he told her, she would, he was sure, keep up her incessant questioning, which was starting to drive him barmy, so, with a heavy sigh, he told her.

'Ginny. Her name is Ginny. Ginny Weasley.'

At first Ellie's eyes scrunched up around her nose in confusion, not immediately recognising the complications that brought, but soon, after not more than a few moments of thought, her eyes opened wide in shocked understanding.

'Ginny Weasley...Ron's little sister Ginny Weasley? The one who had the crush on you when you were younger?'

'The very same. Now do you see why it's so complicated?'

'Well, I see why it may be a bit awkward at first, but I wouldn't call it complicated. I mean if Ron doesn't like it...'

'That's not the problem. Well, not really, anyway. I think he realises now that she's going to be dating, and if she's going to be dating, he'd rather it be me than other blokes he doesn't know. But still, while that may be a bit weird at first,' he paused for a moment to sigh again before continuing, 'there are a few other things that make it all the more complicated. It's hard to explain.'

'Well, why don't you try, Harry? I'm a pretty good listener. And when you're done, I can tell you all the reasons why you're being thick and will set you and her up myself if you don't do it yourself!' She said with a hearty, fun-loving girlish laugh. Harry just rolled his eyes, sighed and continued. But not before telling her just how much like Hermione he found her.

'I'll take that as a compliment, then, Harry! But if I ever spend as much time in the library as you claim she does, please, drag me out by force!' she said, laughing again, waiting for Harry to answer.

'Well, it's just that, well, she just finally gotten over that crazy crush on me a year or so ago, and we've finally started to actually get to know each other and be friends, and I don't want to risk ruining that or ruining what I have with the Weasleys and everything...'

'You mean, now that she doesn't idolise you anymore and see you as the person you are you can finally get to know each other as people? And you finally can see what a great person she is?' Ellie asked in a slightly patronising tone.

'Well, yeah, I guess so,' Harry said. 'Besides, I told you about that terrorist who is out to kill me...he's not going to stop. It's not just something that I can ignore, or that will eventually go away. I have a feeling that one day it's going to come down to some kind of...duel...between me and him,' Harry said, pausing to collect his thoughts. If he weren't trying so hard to not reveal too much, he'd have laughed at the humour of his statement. 'And being connected with me will only put her in danger. I can't risk that. I...I can't have her risk her life just to be with me,' he finally said.

'Harry, I think you more than fancy Ginny,' Ellie said. 'You may even love her.'

'Love?! No, no, no. I can't love her. I mean, we've never even gone on a date or anything,' Harry protested.

'Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight?'

'Well, yeah, but this is a bit different...'

'Okay, I don't believe you, but even if it is true, don't you think that that should be for her to decide? Shouldn't it be her choice whether or not she wants to put herself in danger for the man she loves? And besides, if her family is already as connected to you as you say, isn't she already in danger?'

'Well, not as much as she would be if...wait, what did you say? Man she loves?'

Ellie sighed heavily, before continuing on to explain, as if it were the simplest thing in the world and Harry was a rather dense child who hadn't done his lessons for the week.

'Yes, Harry. The man she loves. Girls never forget their first loves. And you're hers. She may have outgrown her silly crush, but she's never outgrown or given up on you. But, I think, she's resigned herself to the fact that you're not interested in her, and she figures she'd rather be your friend than not in your life at all. That's why she's gotten closer to you, and you've actually started to get to know the real Ginny–the Ginny that I think you might just love back. But she's never given up on you. And, truth be told, I think that if you're as transparent all the time as you are now with me, she might realise your feelings as well, and has started dropping hints,' she said. 'Has she written you or anything yet this summer?'

'Yes, I got a post from her the other day'

'And how did she sign her letter?'

''Love, Ginny',' Harry replied. Ellie smirked in triumph.

'See?' She said.

'You mean that's a hint, and not just some girly thing that all girls do? I mean, Hermione never signed her letters that way, but I just assumed it was because that was Hermione...'

'No, Harry. She's dropping you a rather massive hint. She wants to be with you, and she knows that you want to be with her. This is her way of saying that it's okay to ask her out, and that if you do, she'll more than likely say yes,' Ellie explained, smiling broadly. 'Look, Harry,' she continued, 'I know you've got to work some of these things out on your own, and you're going to do what you're going to do anyway. But I think it'd be very silly not to act on these feelings.'

'Why?'

'Well, for a few reasons, really. First being that, since she realises how you feel now, and you know how she feels–or at least should, now that I've told you–and don't act on them, you'll both be unhappy. True love only comes once, and we need to take it when we find it, because it may really only come once. And not only will you be unhappy being apart, but whatever relationship you do have now will eventually become strained due to the latent hostility you have towards one another for one reason or another. Also,' she said, pausing mainly for dramatic effect, 'if she's anything at all like the spitfire you've made her out to be, I think you might do well to permanently have your jock cup around with you all the time for a few months, just to be safe,' she said, laughing and winking. Harry couldn't help himself, and he laughed too. Not a 'polite' laugh just to be nice, even though he didn't find anything funny, but a real, honest-to-Merlin hearty belly laugh. A laugh that reminded him of Sirius, and made him feel surprisingly good, knowing he was doing something Sirius lived for: laughter and fun. After their laughter had finally died down, Ellie spoke between great heaving breaths, trying to catch her breath.

'Look, Harry, the bottom line here is this: You're going to do what your heart tells you is right. But I'm telling you as a friend, she's already in danger, no matter what you do, and how far you push her, and I really think that you more than fancy her, and you won't really be happy until you realise that for yourself. And you won't be able to do that without being with her. If you really are in such danger and under such stress, now more than ever, you need to be surrounding yourself with people, not pushing them away. Your friends, and family–no, not the Dursleys, your real family-,' she amended quickly at Harry's distraught face. 'And those who love you. And the one who loves you the most is Ginny. I can tell without ever meeting her,' she said, smirking. 'And if you're too thick to do anything about it, I will fix you two up myself if I have to! That's what friends do, after all!' she said. 'What's her phone number? I'll ring her and arrange something!'

'She doesn't have one. Her family is kind of old-fashioned.'

'Oh, I see. Well, no matter. I'll look her up and get in contact with her somehow if you don't follow my advice,' Ellie said. 'So do yourself a favour and think about yourself and your own happiness, which I get the feeling you don't do very often, and ask the lovely Miss Weasley to a film or dinner or something. I guarantee you she'd say yes,' she said with a slight smile. Harry responded in kind, but didn't say anything; he had a lot to think about now. _And one thing is for certain,_ the voice in his head said, _the plan I originally had will be a lot harder than I had thought. Maybe Ellie's right. We'll just have to wait and see._

After a brief pause and silence, Ellie looked at her watch, and then up to the sky, with the slowly sinking sun, and, realising they had both been there for quite a long time, Ellie said, 'Well, I should be getting home for tea. This was fun. Can I count on us doing this, or other fun things, again in the future?' Harry didn't reply, but nodded his head in recognition of her words, and she smiled broadly and headed towards the exit of the park. Harry, too, left his seat on the swing and headed out and started on his way back towards Privet Drive. On Wisteria Walk, the two took different paths to their respective houses, and with that, the two new friends parted ways for their own abodes, but knew nonetheless, that they had, indeed made a great new friend.

Once Ellie had turned away from Wisteria Walk towards her own house, and Harry had once again started walking down the walk towards Privet Drive, Tonks revealed herself from under the invisibility cloak she was wearing.

Harry took one look at her smirking face and said, 'Don't even start, Tonks.'

'Whatever do you mean, my young friend?' she asked in an overly posh, pretentious sounding voice. Harry was not amused.

'You must think you're really bloody funny, don't you? You almost got caught laughing like that.'

'I know, Harry, and I'm sorry, but it was just so funny,' she said. Harry, still very much not amused didn't say anything. After a few moments of awkward silence, as Harry and Tonks turned onto Privet Drive, Tonks said, 'So...you and Ginny, huh? I sort of always knew you two would end up together,' she said, in a voice that sounded like she was only half talking to Harry.

'We're not together, Tonks,' he retorted, exhausted from all the talk about his non-existent relationship with Ginny.

'And why not? It's obvious you fancy her, and she's always fancied you,' she said pointedly.

'You know why, Tonks. I told Ellie the same thing, and you understand better than she ever could–it's very complicated,' he said heavily.

'You are so much like Remus, it's scary. Did you know that, Harry?'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You know exactly what it means: pushing your friends away for their own safety, denying yourself the one thing you want more than anything–someone to love you, romantically–for 'their own safety', regardless of whether or not they want to be protected or not, thinking that you don't deserve love-,' she said, trailing off as Harry spoke.

'What's with all this talk of love? I haven't even asked her out on a date! How does everyone know we're going 'work' like that? And besides, you and I both know it's more complicated than that.'

'It's only that complicated because you're making it that complicated, Harry,' Tonks said, sagely.

'But she's only just gotten over me! I don't want to send her back to that...that horrible crush. I like that she's able to see me as me now,' Harry said, hanging his head.

'She still will, Harry. She hasn't gotten over you, or given up on you. She's tried to move on because she thinks you're not interested. Although if Ellie could see it, I'm sure that she can...,' she said, winking smartly. 'But even if she's as thick as you are and can't see it, like Ellie said, she's your friend now because she doesn't think you want to love her the way she loves you, Harry. But she does. She always has and always will. Look, we're getting close to your block so I won't be able to talk anymore, and I'll be away on Order business all next week, so I'll just say this. You're going to do what you feel is right, like always. But trust me on this: the right thing, in this case, is thinking of yourself, and your happiness, before the war and everything else. You need to have some fun and let someone into your life, and let someone love you the way I know Ginny does. Please, just think about it, before you make any decisions,' she said, before whipping the cloak back over herself and became, once again, invisible, and Harry trudged the rest of the way back to Number Four, Privet Drive in silence, and to the outside observer, just as alone as when he left that afternoon.

_Damn it all, Tonks!_ The voice inside Harry's head screamed. Why do you have to go that route?! Why do you have to make so much bloody sense? I had it all planned out, but now...now...well, now I'll have to give this some much more serious thought, he concluded glumly, as he trudged inside the house, noticing only that his Aunt and Uncle were still gone, as was Dudley. He was probably out behind the secondary school getting drunk or smoking grass, Harry thought ruefully. He didn't, then, notice Tonks's silent squeal of glee and her silently holding the front door open a split second longer than necessary, in order to let in a large, shaggy, black dog.

Harry didn't notice the dog as it tramped up the stairs into his room, either. He was too lost in thought to notice much of anything, with the exception that it was long past tea, and Dudley hadn't gotten home, and neither had his aunt or uncle. They had probably gone on a mini-holiday for themselves without letting him know. It's not like they'd ever let him know, let alone bring him along, he thought ruefully, thankful for small miracles, deciding to use this rare time alone in the house to watch some telly, which was something he was never allowed to do if anyone else was home.

After a good few hours of satisfying muggle-style brain rotting in front of the telly, the sun had fully set and it was getting quite late in the evening and Harry decided to head up to his room and try, in vain he thought bitterly to himself, to get some sleep. He knew his efforts would be futile and he would wind up waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, brooding, yet again, over the loss of Sirius. Yet, he trudged up the stairs and into the small second bedroom that he called his. However, when he opened the door to head into the room, he stopped dead in his tracks on the threshold. Sitting on his bed, with his face split wide in his trademark wolfish grin, his trademark hair scraggly and hanging limply across the sides of his head, framing his face just as he remembered him; it was him. Looking just as Harry remembered him, as if they had seen each other just yesterday. There, sitting on his bed, smiling broadly was a very much alive Sirius Black.

Harry's mouth dropped open in shock, and a split second later, his wand was in his hand and pointed at the impostor on his bed.

'Who the hell are you?' he demanded in as menacing a voice he could muster.

'It's me, Harry. It's Sirius.'

'Don't lie to me. Sirius Black is dead. I saw it myself.'

'Am I now?'

'Yes. Sirius died. I saw him fall through the veil!'

Sirius nodded sagely, knowing full well what must have been running through his young charge's head.

'And you're sure this veil is a death sentence?'

'Well, no...,' Harry said, suddenly unsure of himself.

'Well then how come you're so sure I'm dead, Harry?'

'Well, erm...but you...you can't be Sirius!'

'Oh, but I'm dead serious, Harry,' Sirius said, letting out a great, familiar bark of laughter. Harry's face, however, showed how unamused he was. 'I'm sorry, Harry, but I couldn't resist,' Sirius said after he had regained his composure. 'Look, if you don't believe me, Harry, go ahead and ask me a question. Ask me anything.'

'Alright, then,' Harry said. 'Erm, right. What song did you sing all around the House, and everywhere else you could, last Christmas?'

'That's easy, Harry. You need to have a better question than that–something only you and I would know. But I'll bite: It was 'God rest ye merry Hippogriffs'.'

'Alright, then,' Harry said, thinking a moment before asking, 'What did you get me before the first task of the tri-wizard tournament in Fourth Year?'

'That's better, Harry. And it's a trick question. It was for Christmas Third Year, and it was a Firebolt' Sirius said, smiling broadly. Harry smiled to match, and lowered his wand, beginning to believe that it really was his until-now-believed-dead godfather. He didn't put it away, however, just in case.

'Alright then, last question,' Harry said, gulping. 'What gift did you give me so that we could communicate without owls?'

Sirius smiled sadly as he answered, 'Your Dad's mirror. I have the other one. We made them so we could communicate with each other when we were in separate detentions. Whatever happened to that mirror, Harry?'

'I kind of...broke it...after...what happened...,' Harry said, trailing off.

'Its alright, Harry,' Sirius said. 'We'll just make a new one,' he said.

'So, it's really you, then, Sirius? You're really alive?'

'In the flesh,' he said, opening his arms and embracing his godson, who had finally broken down in a mixture of joy, pain, sadness and worry.

Once Harry had regained his composure, Sirius released him and said, 'You didn't really think that some bloody draperies would do me in, did you?' he asked, smirking. 'I mean, I was, after all, the All-England Duelling Champion.'

'Well, Dumbledore said...,' Harry began.

'It doesn't matter what Dumbledore said, Harry. I'm here, and very much alive.'

All Harry could do was smile broadly realising that much of his reasoning for being such a git to his friends, and his now-not-sure-about plan was for naught. _This may change some things as well..._ the voice inside his head thought.

'And Harry, I think we need to talk'

'Huh?'

'Well, I'm your godfather, right?'

'Yeah'

'Well, sometimes that entails some more serious things, too, not just joking around, right?'

'I guess...' Harry said, now quite confused.

'Well, I need to talk to you about the barmy plan you've no doubt concocted since you thought I was dead,' Sirius said.

'What do you mean?' Harry asked, a tad defensively.

'Harry,' Sirius said flatly. 'I think I know you well enough by now to know how you think–you blame yourself for everything and push people away, and right now, especially with this war brewing, you need your friends–those who love you–close, now more than ever.'

'But...,' Harry tried to interrupt, but was cut off by Sirius.

'No excuses or interruptions, please, Harry,' he said, before continuing. 'In particular, I want to talk to you about a certain redheaded young witch.'

'Um, what about?'

'I'm sure you know what I mean, Harry,' Sirius said, not falling to Harry's diversionary tactics. He held Ginny's letter to Harry up from his side and placed it in front of Harry. 'Harry, she knows, Harry. Everybody knows. Even that nice muggle girl, Ellie, you were talking with today, knows you fancy her, Harry. Look at this letter. She's dropping hints left and right–you need to make your move, Harry,' he said.

'Wait a second, Sirius! How do you know about Ellie?!' Harry asked.

'Well, I watched you all day today, and I listened to your conversation'

'But I would have seen you! Even in your Animagus form, it's rather hard to miss you, Sirius!'

'Ah, but I wasn't an Animagus. I was a wizard, under a disillusionment charm. I am, after all, a fully-qualified, capable wizard and member of the Order of the Phoenix,' he said. 'But enough about that. I heard your conversation, and it's true, Harry. She's over her crush, sure, but that's because there are more feelings there than before, not less.'

'How do you know that, Sirius?' Harry demanded, but before Sirius could answer, he continued, 'And besides, even so, it's still very complicated, and unlike Ellie, you know exactly why!'

'Well, Harry, I don't know. I'm pretty damn sure, though, and I tend to be good at reading women. A long-time bachelor like me generally has to get good at things like that. But aside from that, Harry, it's only complicated because you're making it complicated,' Sirius pointed out gently.

'How so?'

'You keep telling yourself no, when all you want is yes'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, Harry, let me see. I think we can all safely assume that Ginny more than fancies you. And we both know that you fancy her. In fact, it's probably more than fancy. In fact, I think you may even lo-,' Sirius said, before being cut off by Harry.

'Everyone keeps saying that I love her! I don't even know her well enough that way! We're good friends, yes, and yes, I fancy her! But we've never even been on a bloody date! I mean, I fancied Cho, but we went out and it went horribly, and now, look, we can't stand the sight of each other!'

'Is that what you're afraid of?'

'Partially,' Harry admitted just loud enough so Sirius could hear.

'Look, Harry, the Weasleys will still love you, no matter what happens. You're their seventh son, whether you and Ginny end up together or not, they'll always care about you. But between you and me, I think you're going to wind up together,' Sirius said.

'What makes you say that?'

'Oh, a few things, actually. The first is that I can't help but think you two are soul mates. I'm not blind, you know. And I see the way she looks at you, and the way you've been looking at her, before the events of the end of term, when you thought no one's watching. It's not just a look of lust, just like you want a good snog, or a shag, Harry. Which, by the way, I don't think Molly would approve of,' he said, winking melodramatically. 'It's the way I saw your Mum and Dad look at each other–after they got together, that is,' he added, before continuing. 'And the second, is the way you stood in front of her to protect her at the Ministry. Nobody does that for just anybody, Harry. Not even you. You didn't step in front of Ron or Hermione or any of the others–just Ginny. What I think, son, is that you do, in fact, love her. Your heart, I think, realises this deep down in your heart of hearts, even if your brain is too damn thick to realise it yet,' he said, playfully rapping Harry on the head as he teased him. 'And besides, let's not forget the Potter Curse, or as your Dad called it, the 'Greatest thing about being a Potter'–you're doomed–er, well, doomed or blessed, depending on how you see it, to fall in love with a red head. There hasn't been a Potter man to fall in love with a non-redhead in over twenty generations. And to be completely honest, I can't think of a better red head for you to fall for than Ginny, Harry,' he concluded quite seriously.

'But it's still more complicated than that, Sirius! She'll just be in danger if she's with me!'

'Harry, what is Ginny's last name?'

'Weasley, Sirius. You know that'

'That I do. I also know that in all the Voldemort-supporting circles, the Weasleys are the top target after you. Not because they are so closely tied to you, although that doesn't help, but they are Britain's most prominent 'Blood Traitor' family, Harry. Arthur is so hated in those circles, that before you were revealed back to the Wizarding world, they were plotting ways of getting rid of him. Plus, the fact that they are all, with the possible exception of Percy, known to be members of the Order of the Phoenix and very close to Dumbledore, adds fuel to the flame. And of course, there's the fact that they've been closer to you than any family in the wizarding world for almost six years now, Ron is your best friend, and you are also quite close to other Weasleys, including Fred and George, she would be in danger any way you sliced it, regardless of if she even knew you or not, let alone if she were your girlfriend. Harry, you're just making excuses for your own warped plans. You're putting off your own happiness and hers in some stupid idea of trumped-up nobility. Besides, Harry,' he said. 'If she really was in that much danger, which she's not, I might add, she's a smart girl. Shouldn't that be her decision to make?'

'Well, erm, I don't...' Harry managed to stammer, all but the last shreds of his resolve crumbling away at Sirius's irrefutable logic.

'Harry, did I ever tell you that I was in love once?'

'No'

'Well, here, let me tell you. Her name was Marlene McKenna, and she was a dear friend of your mother's. We met at Hogwarts, and dated on and off for about three years, never getting too serious, because neither of us were ready for that, unlike your Mum and Dad. Well, a little after we left school, she and I were reunited at, surprisingly, an Order of the Phoenix meeting. Your mother had recruited her to the Order, as they were still quite close, both being Muggleborns and all. Well, we re-connected and fell in love very hard and very fast. Anyway, about two months before your parents...well, you know...Marlene died, too. She and her whole family were murdered by Death Eaters. It would have been our one-year anniversary three days after that, too. I had even prepared to ask her to move in with me at a fancy dinner date in Muggle London I had arranged earlier in the week. And let me tell you, that is a big step, because this was the late seventies, and back then asking a girl to move in with you was basically the same as getting engaged. You didn't move in with a girl you didn't intend to marry. But, anyway, she was murdered, and I knew that I would never find a girl who I loved like I did her, and so I've been a bachelor ever since. It's not a bad life, but it can get lonely and sad sometimes. I'm telling you this story so you don't make the same mistake I did, Harry. We all get one chance, one shot at true love. One, that's it. And I'm telling you now, if you don't take this risk with Ginny now, no matter what the risks may be, you'll never get it again, and you'll be unhappy for the rest of your life. And I don't want that for you, and neither does anyone else.'

Harry hung his head in defeat, the last of his resolve finally crumbled at Sirius's words. _Well, this certainly changes things, doesn't it?_ The voice inside his head said rhetorically, to no one in particular.

'Look, Harry, you're going to do what you're going to do, but please, I really hope you take my advice for once. I do know a bit more about this than you think or give me credit for. Anyway, I've got to go check in with Dumbledore, and see how Moony is. Here,' he said, handing Harry a rolled up bit of parchment with Dumbledore's very familiar looping scrawl in green ink on the front. 'Hedwig was here earlier with this. She's out hunting now. I'll see you in a few days, Harry,' Sirius said, handing Harry the letter and apparating away. Harry, now finally secure in his new decision to ignore his previous plan, lay the letter on his bedside table until the morning, and lay down, and for the first time in weeks, slept peacefully and soundly through the night.


	4. Thick as a Brick

The next morning arrived bright, warm, and by the clock on his bedside table proclaiming the time already half-ten, blessedly late, for which Harry was grateful to have finally gotten a full, restful night's sleep. The late hour could only mean that his Aunt and Uncle were still out wherever they had gone the previous day, further confirming that the events that unfolded yesterday were not, in fact, a dream, adding to Harry's pleasant mood. The note Sirius had told him Hedwig had delivered last night still lay on his bedside table, his name written out on the front in Professor Dumbledore's familiar looping scrawl.

After sitting up in his bed, he retrieved his glasses from his bedside table and began to read.

_Dear Harry,_

I am aware of how deeply Sirius' loss has affected you, and that now you have returned back to your Aunt and Uncle's home. I am also fully aware how little you like staying there, but trust me when I tell you that you need to remain there, at least for the time being, especially now that Tom has 'officially' returned, and is now gaining in strength, numbers and popularity by the day. While I'm sure it is not a pleasant place to be, it really is the safest place for you to be at the moment, and right now, your safety is my primary concern. I also realise that you don't like hearing that, and you especially don't want to hear it right now, but please, Harry, don't fight me on this. I've already done more than enough fighting with Molly Weasley, and have already promised her that as soon as it is safe and prudent to do so, you can again return with them to the Burrow for the summer. In the meantime, as a compromise, I have arranged for some time for you to spend with your friends. Merlin knows, I've been very lack in my planning and assumptions about your care over the summers these past years; I had no idea that you had little to no contact with the outside world, either wizard or muggle, and would not have believed it had I not observed it myself after the suspicion was brought to my attention. A young growing boy such as yourself needs sunlight, exercise and fun, after all. And, while I view your health and safety my primary concern, part of being healthy is being happy, and having a healthy amount of fun, or at the very least, the ability to go outside without having to sneak around (although now I see how you came to be so good at it during term time, my boy!). And so, to that end, I have arranged a small 'holiday' for your Aunt and Uncle so that they will not be around to cause you trouble–yes, I am aware they are a rather bothersome couple.

Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley was unable to come to the little arrangement I had made, as he is spending the day with Miss Granger and her parents in Manchester. It would be good for him, I believe–getting him out into the wider muggle world–he'll have a whole wealth of knowledge and new learning to draw upon now that he wouldn't have had, despite how muggle savvy his father may be. However, the young Miss Weasley eagerly volunteered to come visit you, and I'm sure you won't mind spending time with her, seeing as how you've grown rather close over the past year. She will be flooing to Arabella's at half-one tomorrow (as it is already late at night now) and walking to your home from there. I hope that you will enjoy yourselves as much as possible, given the circumstances.

Have fun,

Professor Dumbledore

P.s. Harry, I know that you have a tendency to skirt the rules, and be able to get away with it, even if you aren't technically using magic...please Harry, stick to purely muggle things, especially when in sight of other people. That means no flying. Sorry. Have fun!

Harry suddenly felt himself get extremely anxious, and well, if he was honest with himself, nervous, for no reason. That's not true the voice in his head scolded angrily. You know exactly why, it said, You're going to see Ginny today, alone. And how you handle today could very well effect the outcome of...everything, it screamed even though Harry himself didn't completely know what exactly the outcome that he was hoping for was.

Looking at the clock and noting the time, he quickly got up from his bed and made his way to the loo to shower and take care of his morning constitutions. When he had finished taking care of what he needed to, and took an abnormally long time dressing in clothes that were nicer than what he would generally wear during the summer, especially when just lounging around the house, he made his way down to the kitchen to make himself something to eat and wait for Ginny.

However, when he entered the kitchen, he sighed heavily as he saw, taped to the refrigerator door, a small note quickly scrawled by his aunt and addressed to him.

_We are going to Cornwall for the weekend. There is food in the fridge. Do not eat Dudley's food unless you want to answer to your uncle. Just because we're going on holiday doesn't mean you can. I still expect your daily chores to be done, and I had better not come home to find a dirty house. And none of your freakishness either! The roses along the side garden need pruning and weeding, also._

Aunt Petunia

_Great_ the voice inside his head groaned as he sighed heavily, not at all relishing weeding his aunts' rose bushes (which he had done all of the planting and cultivating of, so they were really his rose bushes) in the summer sun, in nice clothes no less. Looking at the clock, he saw he had almost an hour until Ginny was due to arrive, not enough time for him to change his clothes, work in the garden and change back again; still, he realised, he'd much rather be doing work, or another activity of some kind than sitting around waiting for Ginny to arrive like some kind of tosspot, so he resigned himself to working in the garden–and mucking up his nice clothes in the process–until Ginny arrived. Just bloody brilliant, he grumbled to himself as he made his way out to the back garden, off to the shed to fetch the spade and trowel.

+ + + + +

When Ginny Weasley woke up that morning, she felt more at peace and well-rested than she had since leaving Hogwarts. To say she was worried was an understatement. She was worried about Tom's return and his still climbing ascent to power, she was worried about her family and all her brothers especially, she was worried about her Mum and Dad and everyone else in the Order–her Mum especially, who was already infamous for her penchant for worrying, and who, Ginny knew, was only going to get worse now that Tom was back for good, but most of all, she worried for a certain adorable, raven-haired, green-eyed boy who was, she was sure, alone, hurting and brooding.

She had been having restless, at best, sleep since they left Hogwarts she was worrying so much. Today, however, she woke up strangely refreshed and well-rested. She hadn't been this well-rested in such a long time that to her, if felt almost strange to feel so. Somehow, deep in the depths of her heart she knew that Harry had read her letter and taken it to heart. She didn't know how she knew as she had absolutely no talent whatsoever for Divination, but somehow, she knew, and she thought that must have been the source of her new-found peace. Harry was alright, and he would only get better. Now, if only he'd stop being so bloody thick about his feelings she thought to herself, sighing heavily.

All-in-all though, a relaxed, moderately happy and non-brooding Harry was definitely a step in the right direction. After all, she thought to herself, smirking slightly, I can always spend time working on Harry once he leaves those atrocious relatives of his. With that thought in mind, she wrapped herself in her houserobe that was draped over her desk chair, left her room and bounded down the stairs to breakfast, a smile on her face.

The sight that met her when she entered the kitchen, however, was not what she had expected. Instead of the subdued but lively breakfast she had expected with her Mum and Dad, Ron and the Twins (who, while they had their own place, ate nearly all their meals at the Burrow due both to Molly's insistence and also the fact that, despite their apparent mastery of potions, even with magic, they could not cook a single edible meal); she instead noticed that her father had already gone to work early, and Ron was nowhere to be seen, so sitting around the table pleasantly eating breakfast was her Mum, the twins and Professor Dumbledore.

'Professor!' Ginny cried, instantly worried. 'What are you doing here?'

'Ginny!' Mrs. Weasley scolded, but before she could build any steam, Dumbledore raised his hand to silence her.

'Don't worry, Molly, no need to scold. I'm sure that Miss Weasley is simply afraid, like you were, that my presence here signals bad news, rather than a mere social call,' Dumbledore said calmly, and Molly Weasley closed her mouth, effectively silenced, as Ginny just nodded her head dumbly. 'Not to worry, Miss Weasley, this is purely a social call, albeit a very early one,' he said, smiling softly. 'Actually, Miss Weasley, I was here waiting for you,' he concluded.

'Me?'

'Yes, Miss Weasley, you,' Dumbledore said. 'You see, Miss Weasley, it seems that Harry's situation with his Aunt and Uncle is worse than I had expected–it seems the rumours I have been hearing for a long time now, are indeed, true, and I fear I have been severely lacking in a crucial part of his well-being–I have taken such care to ensure that he was safe, it never even occurred to me to think about his happiness,' he said.

_Bloody well right, you didn't!_ A voice inside her head was screaming out as she balled her hands into fists and crossed her arms across her chest. _It's about damn time you decided to get off your arse and make sure he wasn't being mistreated and was–Merlin Forbid–actually happy over the summer!_ Her voice screamed out at him inside her head.

'And now, after hearing certain frightening reports from Miss Tonks-,' he said, clearly ignoring her growing hostility and defensive stance, '–I have decided to rectify the situation as best I can,' he said. 'And that is why I am here at such an early hour.'

Ginny relaxed a bit at his statement, though her pent-up rage and frustration at his devil-may-care attitude towards Harry had still not subsided.

'So how do you plan to do that Professor?' she asked, in what she hoped was a neutral tone, hoping it conveyed both her curiosity and the fact that she was still quite angry about his treatment of Harry thus far. Dumbledore's eyes caught hers and twinkled merrily behind his half-moon spectacles as he twisted in his seat at the table to look at her fully, before he spoke.

'Well, it seems that his relatives have decided to take a small holiday to Cornwall for the weekend,' he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief, 'And I figured that it would be the perfect time for him to receive visitors,' he said.

'But...Ron's not here, Professor,' she said, looking around, not fully grasping what he was saying (due in part to the early hour). 'He's-,' she began, before being cut off by Dumbledore, who finished off her sentence.

'–In Manchester for the day with Miss Granger and her parents,' he stated simply. 'I am well aware of that, Miss Weasley. I am not here for your brother,' he said. 'I am here for another of the Weasley children,' he said, his eyes seemingly boring a hole in her head, as he smiled wanly.

_That's strange_, she thought to herself. What does he know? She continued to ask herself, until Dumbledore continued, yet again.

'Surely you know what I'm planning by now, Miss Weasley?' he said, as she nodded slowly, a smile slowly creeping across her face.

'Excellent,' he said, smiling happily. 'I knew you would be the perfect volunteer for this–and you and Harry have grown quite close of the past year, haven't you, Miss Weasley?'

'Yes, Sir,' she said, nodding, while the voice inside her head muttered resignedly, Not close enough, though.

'Right, then,' Dumbledore said, 'I told Harry you'd be arriving at half-one. You'll floo to Arabella Figg's, and from there you'll walk to his house. Remember, Number four, Privet Drive,' he said.

'I know where he lives!' she nearly snapped, only realising what she was doing until the very end. Dumbledore simply chuckled,

'I'm sure you would, Miss Weasley. Please pardon my assumptions. It is one of the unfortunate side-effects of age. Well, I must be off. I do, after all, have many other orders of business to take care of,' he said, excusing himself from the table and making his way to the fireplace, as Ginny herself was already halfway to the stairs to get ready, her smile as wide as her face, a thousand different situations already playing out in her head.

'Oh, and Miss Weasley?' he said, stopping her in her tracks, and turning to face her just before she reached the stairs and he the fireplace. 'Good luck, Miss Weasley,' he said simply, before flooing back to Hogwarts.

Ginny quickly wolfed down a plate and a half of eggs, bacon and sausage, before bounding up the stairs (with a huge smile still on her face) as her brothers left to open the shop for the day, to shower and dress. Nearly an hour later, she had showered and dressed. Since she was going to be in an all-muggle neighbourhood, she knew that robes would be out of the question; not to mention the fact that she much preferred muggle clothes anyway. She decided against her usual plain jeans and t-shirt, however, even though she knew from the looks she caught Harry stealing at her towards the end of last year that he very much liked the way she looked in them, in favour of something slightly more feminine.

Eventually she decided on a light blue sundress she had gotten on the first day of the summer holidays when her mother had (against her better judgement, she had said) allowed her to stay in London an extra night with Hermione and her parents, who had decided to spend the weekend in London rather than to go immediately back to Manchester. They had spent that night eating a nice dinner and just being silly in a very posh hotel near the river, and then had seen an amazing show in the muggle theatre district, Soho, and finished up the next day with a day of sightseeing and shopping. That was when she had found the dress in question.

It was in the window display of a posh boutique, and, on catching her admiring it, Hermione practically forced her to try it on, despite the price, which was very steep and she could never afford it, even if she did have pounds with which to pay. It was, however, absolutely gorgeous, and looked amazing on her. It was a light blue colour and fell down to just below her knees, and its neckline dipped just low enough to show some skin and tantalise, while at the same time maintain enough modesty to where her mother wouldn't be scandalised if she wore it. It was amazing, and she loved it. On seeing how much she loved it, and how good she looked in it, Hermione's mother, Jean, refused to let her leave the shop without buying it for her, despite Ginny's protests. So, after a bit of prodding first of Ginny, and then her mother, she was finally allowed to keep the dress which she was currently wearing. It was, Ginny thought, the perfect dress for today.

Finally satisfied with her clothes choice, in a rare moment of vanity, she decided to add a touch of muggle makeup (since she couldn't use magic, even if only to apply a glamour charm or two) just to complete the ensemble. Not enough to make any drastic changes to her appearance, but enough to show that she'd 'made the effort' as her brothers (and most of the boys at Hogwarts) tended to say.

After giving herself one final look over in her mirror, she headed back down the stairs to head out to Harry's. As she reached the kitchen though, she met her mother waiting for her. Probably to inspect me to make sure I'm dressed appropriately or some such nonsense the voice inside her head sighed. When she looked at her Mum, though, she saw her mother smiling happily, with only the slightest hint of a raised eyebrow. Ginny stared right back at her mother, her smile still splitting her face, and Mrs. Weasley's face broke out into a broad grin herself. Ginny and her Mum sat down to a small, quiet and anxious lunch of sandwiches and pumpkin juice, before it came time for Ginny to leave.

'Well,' Mrs. Weasley said, 'You'd best get going, Ginny dear,' she said, bringing a small picnic basket obviously stuffed to the gills with homemade goodies to bring Harry to the table, 'Make sure to give Harry our love. I've made him a basket of food, Merlin knows he always comes to us far too skinny,' she said, letting some of her worry start to show through, before continuing, 'Now you go and have fun, Ginny dear. You'd best be on your way–you don't want to keep Arabella waiting,' she said, beckoning Ginny towards the fireplace and giving her a bone crushing hug before stepping back and letting Ginny grab a handful of floo powder.

'Oh, and Ginny?' she called just before she tossed the powder into the fireplace.

'Yes, Mum?' Ginny asked.

'You don't need luck, Ginny,' Mrs. Weasley said. 'Go let that boy know what he's missing, dear. He's all yours. He just doesn't know it yet,' she said. 'Your father was the same way.'

'Thanks, Mum,' Ginny said, and turned around, threw the powder into the flame, and called out 'Arabella Figg's!' and disappeared in a whoosh of green flame.

_ _ _ _

It was hot. Very hot. Too hot, almost, for an English summer. Harry had been out in the heat of the day working in the rose bushes in his aunt's garden along the side of the brick house for nearly an hour, and was so hot that he had discarded his shirt and draped it over the fence nearly twenty minutes ago due to the heat. He had just finished much of the weeded of the bushes and stood up to stretch his legs and wipe his brow. As he did so, none other than Ellie happened to be walking by. As she walked past the garden of number four, Privet Drive, Ellie noticed Harry, shirtless, and wiping his brow, and decided to say hello.

'Hiya, Harry!' she said as she came up to the fence.

'Huh? Oh, hi Ellie,' Harry replied, startled for a moment at her appearance.

'Don't be happy to see me or anything, Harry,' she said, slightly sarcastically, before noticing his now-mucked up nice trousers and nice shirt draped over the fence. 'What's with the nice clothes? You weren't expecting anyone special today, were you?' she teased, placing special emphasis on the word 'special', noticing as she did that Harry's face flushed spectacularly. 'Perhaps a certain special redhead?' she pressed, noticing Harry suddenly looked down at the ground, suddenly finding his trainers intensely interesting. 'Decided to take my advice, did you? Good on you, Harry. I told you you should listen to me!' she cried, pressing on.

'Well,' Harry said, blushing spectacularly, while fumbling to put his shirt back on, 'You see, my relatives apparently are taking a weekend holiday down to Cornwall, so erm, you see, Ginny–Ginny is-,' he said, stuttering and stumbling through his explanation until across the street he saw the brilliant flaming red hair of the redhead in question.

'Ginny!' he called, waving her over a bit more enthusiastically than he normally would, so desperate was he to end the smug look of 'I-told-you-so' coming from Ellie.

Ginny, for her part, hurried across the street until she was standing up against the fence just like Ellie was, and immediately grabbed Harry into a tender, albeit awkward hug. It was both a greeting and a way to show this strange, blonde-haired muggle whom she didn't know to keep her hands off. Of course, she would never admit this out loud, but she didn't know who Ellie was, either, and so she regarded her with a bit of distance. To both of their surprise, Harry returned the hug just as eagerly, until Ginny pushed him away as she started to feel his sweaty chest through his shirt.

'Ew, Harry, you're all sweaty!' she said, wrinkling her nose.

'Well, it is a bit hot out,' he replied, chuckling and he, Ginny and Ellie all readily agreed and laughed. 'Oh,' Harry said, nearly forgetting the introductions, 'Ginny, this is my friend Ellie,' he said, pointing at Ellie and making eye-contact with Ginny as if to try to convey to her the fact that yes, she was a muggle, and no, she is only a friend. 'Ellie, this is Ginny,' he said, completing the introductions, as the two young women shook hands.

'So this is the famous Ginny,' Ellie said. 'I've heard a lot of good things about you,' she said as she shook hands with Ginny, smiling broadly, before she leaned in to whisper something in Ginny's ear which made her blush a spectacular shade of Weasley red, but which Harry could not quite catch. 'Right then. Well, Harry, Ginny, I'll let you two get on with whatever you had planned. I'll be at the playpark. Harry, Ginny, if you're out later, maybe we can all go in to town or something. I'll see you around, Harry. Bye,' she said, and with that, took her leave and headed towards the park.

For a long moment or two Harry just stood there, behind the fence, gawking at the beautiful redheaded creature before him, admiring especially how beautiful she looked with such minimal changes to her 'everyday' demeanour. She was absolutely gorgeous, he thought, and for some reason he found himself just staring at her: her hair, her eyes, her lips, her curves, and he could have probably stood there for quite a long while just gawking at her like an idiot but her shifting under his staring caught up with him and brought his attention back to the present.

'Oh, erm, right. Ginny, come in, come in,' he said, shaking himself out of his reverie and opening the fence gate and letting her into the garden, and leading her back towards the rear door and into the house. As he was doing that, Ginny took her turn to gawk, albeit a lot more inconspicuously. As he led her into the house, she followed behind the whole time, just taking in the sight of him; he was absolutely gorgeous to her eyes, of course, but her attraction to him was far beyond his physical appearance, though now she was finally taking a chance to really get a good look at his physique. He had grown a good inch or two taller than he was this time last year, and while was always a bit small for his age, and always got particularly scrawny during the summer months probably due to malnourishment from those horrible people who call themselves his relatives she thought angrily, due to his Quidditch training and other physical activities he was beginning to look a lot more athletic and muscular and retain his physique even during the summer months. He was almost a contradiction in looks, to her; so athletic and strong looking, yet at the same time small for his age; quite masculine and mature looking for his age, yet at the same time so adorably boyish and happy, especially when his eyes twinkled with mischief as they often did when he and Ron were up to something, or when he gave that goofy grin that she knew just made her melt, even though she had really only been properly on the receiving end of that grin a few times, she knew already that that would be one of her greatest weaknesses with him. She was so absorbed in her musings that she didn't hear it at first when Harry called her name as they entered the house. She finally realised he was calling her when he called her name multiple times in quick succession and snapped his fingers in front of her eyes.

'Wha'? Oh, erm, right, sorry Harry, what is it you were saying?' she said, apologising profusely as her face reddened even deeper. The silver lining, of course, was that Harry wasn't as thick to some things as she gave him credit for and he figured out what had distracted her and he, too, blushed profusely, until he, too, was a brilliant shade of Weasley red.

'I, erm, I asked you how you were,' he said.

'Oh,' she said, once again meeting his gaze, 'I'm alright, Harry. Boring, you know. I've been worried about you Harry,' she said.

'I know, Ginny. Thank you. And sorry for me acting like such a tosser the last couple of weeks,' he said. 'It was just hard, you know. But you, and everyone else, has been great. But especially you. That letter you sent me really helped,' he said, and she blushed slightly under the praise.

'You're welcome Harry. It wasn't any trouble, you know I'd willingly do that, and more all over again, right?' she said, smiling and squeezing tightly the handle of the picnic basket.

'Yes, I do, and thank you, Ginny,' Harry said, pausing nearly midsentence and just looking her up and down. Bloody hell, Potter, you're not being very subtle! He scolded himself, and finally pulled himself out of his reverie and managed to grind out, 'You look beautiful, Ginny. I've never seen you in that dress before. Is it new?'

'Huh? Oh, um, yes,' Ginny said, shocked to her core by the simple gravity of Harry's words. Beautiful? Harry thinks I'm beautiful? This day may be even better than I hoped she thought to herself as she answered, still rather shocked at his candor. 'I was in London an extra day at the beginning of the holidays, with Hermione and her parents. Her Mum refused to let me leave this shop we were in without buying it for me. I told her that it wasn't necessary, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. Mum wasn't too happy, though,' she said, finally beginning to relax from the awkwardness they had a moment before.

'No, I suspect she wasn't,' Harry said truthfully. 'But it looks really great on you. I'm glad you got it,' he said, still a big nervous and awkward, she could tell, but starting to relax himself. 'What's that?' he asked pointing to the basket she still gripped tightly in her hands.

'Oh, right, I almost forgot!' she cried, laughing at herself and her own forgetfulness. 'Mum told me to give you everyone's love, and she told me to give you this,' she said, thrusting the basket towards Harry. 'Its a picnic basket, obviously, and its stuffed to the gills with all your favourites,' she said. 'Did you know that Mum's been making all your favourites, along with everything else every night since you had to go back to your Aunt and Uncle's? She knew you wouldn't be coming until later in the summer, but she wanted to make all your favourites just to 'have them ready' for you when you came or some such nonsense. I suspect tha'ts what's in here, Harry. I'll tell you, though, Ron may be a big angry at you–he tried to snag a few pies from the cupboard she's been storing all this stuff in a few times, and he had to degnome the entire garden, all by himself, each time. He's a bit disgruntled. I told him the solution would be to eat his own food and not other peoples', but you know how well he listens to others when it comes to feeding his stomach,' she said, laughing. 'So he may be a bit sore about that. But everyone else though, may thank you for it, just for giving us such a good laugh, even though you really have nothing to do with it,' she said, finally breaking out in all out laughter, barely able to contain herself any laughter. Harry was soon joining her in the laughter, as it was, after all, rather funny.

Harry led her into the moderately sized, immaculate kitchen, where they sat down and Ginny handed him the basket. 'Sorry I don't have any food or anything for you, Ginny, this was all kind of last minute, and my Aunt and Uncle aren't exactly the kind of people who entertain our kind often,' he said as he began to rummage through the basket. 'You don't mind if I eat some of this now, do you? I'm starving,'

'No, not at all, Harry. That's what its there for, to be eaten,' she said.

'Thanks,' he said, pulling a small package of sandwiches out and putting them on a plate he grabbed out of one of the cupboards. 'So,' he said, in between bites of sandwich, 'Ron's spending the day with Hermione, eh? D'you think they're, well, you know, yet?' he asked.

'Going together yet?' Ginny asked, clarifying.

'Yeah'

'No, I don't think so. They're still in the dancing-around-each-other phase, I think,' Ginny said, giggling. 'But I don't think it'll take them that much longer until one of them finally gets fed up with it and they either start snogging or hexing each other,' she said, giving in to her fits of giggles once again.

'Well, its about bloody time,' Harry said. 'They've fancied each other forever but neither one wants to admit it to the other,' he said._Oh, Merlin. That sounds familiar_ the voice in his head taunted. He slowly chewed what was left of the first sandwich and picked up another one and began to eat, to see if Ginny was going to say anything, but she didn't. She simply sat watching him, as if waiting for him to continue the conversation. He swallowed his food and again, started to speak, a bit awkwardly, even though most, if not all, of the awkwardness from before had left the room. 'So...,' he said. 'You're not actually dating Dean, huh? What's the deal with that?' he asked.

Ginny just contemplated him for a minute, not quite sure how to answer the question, as she wasn't quite sure what, if anything, he was insinuating with his question. Finally, she spoke.

'No, I'm not. It's that I don't like Dean, I just don't like him that way, you know?' she said, pausing, before she continued. 'Are you glad I'm not dating him, Harry?'

'Yes,' Harry said hastily, before he could even think and consider what she was really asking. Ginny simply raised her eyebrows in mock-surprise, and said 'Oh?'

'Erm, yeah. Well, its not that I don't like him, Ginny. You know? He's my dorm mate and a friend of mine and everything, and I think he's a good guy and all, its just...I don't think he's right for you,' he said, hoping to cover up his intentions as best he could until he had a better read both on the conversation, and on his own feelings and could be a little less confused on his own position on the matter.

'Oh really?' Ginny said coyly. She had a pretty good idea why he didn't, and she also had a very good idea that Harry was just as conflicted about his feelings and just as scared of them, if not more so, than Ron was about his feelings for Hermione. She knew she would have to tread lightly, and yet, at the same time, guide the conversation in the way it was supposed to go.

_Bloody hell_ Harry thought to himself. _He really just walked himself into that one, he thought. Well, there's really no backing down now, Potter._The voice said. _You're damned if you do and damned if you don't. Besides, you know this really is what you want. Listen to Sirius and Tonks, and now Ellie, for once, and don't be a damned fool,_ the voice said. Harry was shaken from his internal dialogue by Ginny's voice.

'You know, Harry, you're not my brother. I mean, Mum and Dad love you like a son, and you may as well be family in their eyes, but you're not actually a Weasley. It's okay if you fancy me,'  
she said.  
_Oh, damn. It's that obvious? Well, I can't back down now,_ the voice concluded.

However, what came out of his mouth was, 'Erm, ah...well...erm...' _Articulate as always, Potter_ the voice inside his head scolded lightly.

'Harry, why are you afraid of being with me?' Ginny asked gently.

'What? I'm not...,' he stuttered, but his face belied his not quite articulate words.

'Harry.' Ginny said, scolding softly. 'We've known each other for a long time now. Granted for a while I was just Ron's sister to you, but especially after the...the...the Chamber, I like to think I tried my best to put that silly crush I had on you out of my mind and try to get to know you as best I could. And I think I've been pretty successful. I mean, I know we haven't really been all that close until about the end of your fourth year, and really not until this last year we're we really close friends, but I like to think I know you well enough to know when you're trying too hard to pretend something. Harry, I know you pretty damn well, I like to think, and whether you realise it or not, you know me really well, too, and I know when you're not telling me, or anyone else, the truth. Please, Harry, tell me the truth. What are you afraid of? Is it Mum and Dad? Or my brothers?'

'Erm, well, no...yes...maybe...well, yes, but that's...,' Harry began to say, but was cut off by Ginny's tender, yet firm voice. A voice, Harry thought, when he was honest with himself (which, he was finally starting to be) sounding an awful lot like music to him, 'Harry, you let me deal with my family, especially Mum and my brothers. I know for a fact that Mum'll be ecstatic! And yes, the twins and Charlie might tease you a bit, but that's about all they'll do–or they'll have both me and Mum to deal with,' she said, smiling wanly. Harry returned her smile back weakly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes as it normally did, and Ginny knew immediately that there was more. 'There's more, isn't there, Harry?'

Harry, for his part, simply nodded. He couldn't find the words to tell her, to say all what he wanted to say to her. That he really did fancy her, that he was pretty damn sure he more than fancied her, but he was afraid of mucking things up with her due to his inexperience, and then having her whole family hate him, and that he was afraid of the fact that, even if he didn't muck it up, there was still the whole prophecy looming over his head and a very good chance that he wouldn't survive the war, and that the last thing he wanted to do was to break her heart, either through his own actions, or through his death.

'Tell me, Harry,' she said, in a tender, soothing voice. 'Please tell me. What are you afraid of?' She said, and Harry, for his part could only oblige her request. He sighed heavily before he spoke.

'Among other things,' he said, taking another deep breath and long pause, 'hurting you.'

'What?'

'Hurting you,' Harry repeated. 'Look, Gin. Everyone seems so convinced that we're so perfect for each other...you, your family, Tonks, Sirius, even Ellie, but I've only been on one actual date before. One. And it was with Cho, and it ended horribly. I'll probably screw everything up,' he said. Before Ginny could say anything or get even one word in edgewise, Harry started talking again, and Ginny decided it would probably be best to just let him talk, and then she could discount every argument he had as to why they couldn't be together all at once. 'I mean, I'm thick, stubborn, pig-headed...I'll, I'll probably just muck everything up and ruin everything,' he said. 'And even if I don't, there's still that whole bloody prophecy thing hanging over my head,' he said. He looked her straight in the eyes and said, 'Ginny, there is a real chance that I may not survive this war. I mean, even more than anyone else involved. It has to be me, Ginny. Me. I have to be to one to kill him, not Dumbledore, not Remus, not anyone else, me. Thats what the prophecy said–Dumbledore told me-,' he said, on seeing her shocked face. 'And I don't want to hurt you, even if through no fault of my own, except for not surviving the war. I know it'll break your heart, and I don't want that, not at all,' he said sombrely.

'Why do you care about that so much Harry? You fancy me, don't you Harry? Hell, you more than fancy me, don't you? You'd have to, to care so much. You wouldn't be so worried about these things if you didn't,' Ginny said softly, yet firmly, trying to get him to realise his stupidity. 'I'm going to level with you, Harry. I love you. Real, honest-to-goodness, genuine article love you. I think we've both always known that I've always loved you, in some sense, but this isn't just some silly schoolgirl crush. I've gotten to know you Harry, the real you, and that is who I love. Believe me, I realise you're far from perfect-,'

'Oh, thanks, Gin,' Harry cut in.

'Don't mention it,' Ginny countered, continuing, 'But you are perfect for me. I've fallen in love with the man you are, not the hero of my bedtime stories–and yes, Dad and Bill really did used to tell me your story as a bedtime story–I love the man you are. I love how honourable and sweet and loyal and humble you are, and I love how sweet and kind you are. Its amazing how you come from such an unhappy, cruel place like this and still ended up as such a kind, loving man who cares so much for his friends and even total strangers that he takes their burdens and their cares and needs upon himself, above himself and his own personal health and happiness. But most of all, Harry, I just love how you are, quite simply, you. You're not Harry Potter the 'Chosen One', you're 'just Harry', and I love you for it. And I'm not expecting you to tell me the same, at least not yet, but I know you, Harry, better than you would think, and you can't fool me. You fancy me. You more than fancy me–you may even love me; you just don't know it yet, and I'm not going to let you throw away not only my happiness, but your own as well, over some stupid thick-headed fears and some dumb prophecy! I've already figured that fact out, already, if you haven't noticed. I'm not dumb, Harry! I always knew it was going to be you to finish Tom off, and it never scared me before, and its not scaring me now. Not anywhere near enough for me to forget how much I love you. Now, more than ever we need to stand by each other, and realise our love, otherwise what are we fighting for?,' she said, pausing quickly to catch her breath, before continuing. 'Can't you see, Harry? This is what Tom wants! He wants us afraid, cowering, powerless and loveless! He wants us to push our friends and those we love away! He's stronger that way! I've always known it was going to be you, and I've never cared before, and I don't care now! I'll stand with you, support you, and be there with you the whole way, every step of the way, until the very end, Harry. Until we either win or die, Harry. That is how much I love you, Harry, and if you don't believe that, then you're thicker than I thought,' she said, finally winding down to catch her breath.

Harry for his part was smiling broadly, his grin reaching his eyes, after hearing her little speech and profession of love for him. It warmed his heart down to the bottom of his very soul to hear those words about him. Its just as they all said, isn't it, you bloody idiot? The voice inside his head was laughing at him, and he couldn't help but agree, and all of a sudden, he couldn't contain his joy and mirth any longer and broke into a fit of laughter.

'What's so damn funny, Potter?' Ginny demanded, slightly annoyed at the fact that he was laughing after she had poured her heart out to him like that.

'That is pretty much exactly what everyone else had told me already, Ginny. Both about your feelings for me, and what they suspected I felt for you...Everyone's already told me just those words. Ellie, Tonks, Sirius...,' he said.

'Sirius? Sirius said that?' Ginny asked. 'He had time after all that he went through to leave you a note about you and me?' she asked.

'No, he told me in person.'

'What? When? He never could have gotten into the castle, and he was too busy during Christmas...'

'He told me around the same time everyone else did...last night,' Harry said.

'What? Last night? Harry, Sirius is dead...,' she said, gently prodding his conscious and trying to reassure him at the same time.

'No, Ginny, he's not. It turns out he's alive! He didn't die after all!' Harry said. On seeing Ginny's very confused and disbelieving face, Harry regaled her the story of everything that had happened to him last night, from getting no sleep the day before to going to the park, to meeting and talking to Ellie for the first time (which Ginny thought was very nice, that he could at least confide in someone while he was here) to coming back and finding Sirius, as Padfoot, in his room, to asking the questions and finally realising it really was Sirius, and he was very much alive, to their conversation that they had had that night to waking up this morning and finding out that she was going to be coming over today. After he finished telling her all what had happened, Ginny was beaming, her grin reaching up to her eyes, which were strangely moist. All of a sudden, however, Ginny's face hardened, became very stoic, and without warning she began yelling at him in a voice and temper that could rival her mother. _If ever there was any doubt that she is Mrs. Weasley's daughter..._ Harry thought to himself, as she screamed at him.

'HARRY JAMES POTTER! HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME EARLIER! HOW COULD YOU EVEN THINK OF TALKING ABOUT OTHER THINGS, WHILE HERE I AM, THINKING THAT SIRIUS IS DEAD AND GONE AND YOU'RE HERE BROODING LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO, WHEN IT TURNS OUT IN ACTUALITY HE'S ALIVE AND WELL! I WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN THE FIRST WORDS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH! HOW COULD YOU LEAVE THIS FOR NOW!' she screamed at him, and then a little bit more for good measure until she had finally screamed her fill at him. 'Well?' she demanded. 'What have you to say for yourself?'

'I thought you already knew, Ginny, honest. Tonks certainly seemed to already know, I just figured that most, if not all, of the Order already knew, and I was his only surprise,' he said in the most placating voice he could muster.

'Well, that's a fair assumption, I guess,' she said, her anger deflating faster than even she could have thought possible. 'But no, Harry, I had not known. Thats great news!'

'It is, Ginny, I'm so happy he's still around,' Harry said, in the understatement of the millennia. 'Besides, Gin, we were talking about something else, so that's another reason why I didn't tell you.'

'You're right, Harry, we were talking about something else. And they all seem to be pretty bloody smart, I think. Harry, Sirius was right, in what he told you. So was Ellie and Tonks. Don't you believe them?'

'I...I...I don't know, Ginny,' Harry stuttered, his head hanging down in embarrassment. 'I don't know what love feels like.'

Ginny's eyes widened momentarily in shock, before her brain caught up to her heart and she realised that he probably wouldn't, having lived with these horrible people for much of his life, and having never had a real romantic relationship before in his life. Her eyes moistened with tears that she refused to shed, though they were not in sympathy or shame for Harry, but rather for the fact that she loved him, and couldn't understand how everyone didn't as well, and how he could have gone so long without knowing love.

'Harry,' she said, with exceptional tenderness and love emanating from her voice, as she gently grabbed a hold of his hands, and stroked the backs of them with her thumbs. An act that, a few moments ago would have been rather awkward, but now seemed as normal and commonplace as Quidditch or Sunday meals at the Burrow. 'Harry James Potter,' she repeated, 'I know that I've only just told you how I feel, and that you still have yet to tell me your true feelings, and that's okay, Harry. I know how you feel, even if you haven't told me yet. And I know this may sound a little bit presumptuous and fast, but I need you to know something Harry. I love you Harry, and I promise, from the bottom of my heart, to always make sure that you not only know what love feels like, for the rest of our time together, but that you also feel and realise what it means and feels like to be in love, and that you will always know and realise what that feels like, for the rest of our lives; be they long or short. If we die in this war, or if we both live long, healthy, happy lives together afterwards, I promise you now that I will always know what love feels like,' she said, with such urgency, such intensity that no one, least of all Harry, could doubt that she meant every word.

At that very moment, both of their eyes locked on the other and as they gazed into each others eyes in earnest, each of them nearly losing themselves in the eyes of the other, a small, tingly feeling erupted in their fingertips, and slowly made its way down each of their bodies, from their fingertips to the tips of their heads, to their chests, and all the way back down to the very tips of each of their toes, each of them feeling the same feeling, the same comforting, warm embrace; the same feeling of safety, security, and of being loved, whether they had admitted it to the other or not. Neither really noticed or cared about it at the time, but the tingling sensation was magic, very powerful magic encompassing all of them, their entire bodies, and mixing with their already potent magical abilities already present, but they realised none of this until later. At the time, it felt only like love. Like a warm, loving embrace from someone you love after a long time apart. They both started to faintly glow with an outline of an aura slowly making itself present and visible around each of them individually and both of them together; very faint at first, but slowly they would grow larger, more obvious, and more brilliantly bright.

It was during this embrace that Harry realised something about himself, about Ginny, about the war, about everything. Ginny was right. Sirius, Tonks and Ellie were right. He had been all along, and had nearly pushed such a wonderful, loving, kind, beautiful woman out of his life just because he didn't think he deserved love. He probably didn't deserve her, he thought seriously, but if she loved him, and was willing to put up with him and all the mistakes he was most assuredly going to make along the way, there was no way or reason that he was going to, in any way, shape or form push her away. He would not only accept her love and support, but he would give it right back, as much, as freely and as often as he could. He may not have any experience in being in love, or really, in loving at all, before; at least not in a romantic nature, but he would learn, and he would quickly. In the days to come, Harry would come to call this his epiphany moment, when everything seemed to make sense and come crashing down upon him like a ton of bricks, as if everything was just so very obvious before and he was just too blind or thick to see it. Which he probably was, after all the voice inside him said, but all that would change from this point forward. This was his epiphany moment, he realised. This, whatever it was, that he now had with Ginny, was real. He didn't have to be afraid or scared or standoffish or push anyone away from anything anymore. Ginny wanted him, and she would have him. And he would have her, for as long as she would have him. This, he realised, must be what love is, and what love feels like, and he no longer felt apprehensive or scared to tell her how he felt.

'Ginny, I–I–love you, too, Ginny,' he said, finally, after what seemed like forever but couldn't have been more than a few moments of contented, peaceful silence. Ginny's face broke into a grin from ear to ear, her face brighter than a Christmas tree chock full of faery lights, so bright was her smile and the shine in her eyes.

'Really, Harry? You mean it? You really feel that way, you're not just saying that because you think you have to?'

'Ginny, have you ever known me to just say things that I don't really mean, because I think that's what I'm supposed to say? I mean, unless its to get out of detention with Filch or Snape,' he said, chuckling.

'No,' Ginny said, smiling, if possible, even brighter, and finally letting a few stray tears of joy fall from her eyes. Harry quickly wiped them with his free hand and kissed her softly. It was a soft, chaste amateurish kiss, but at the same time it held so much passion, tenderness and love in such a small act that both Harry and Ginny thought they would burst from the feelings they were feeling from each other. When they pulled apart they both had goofy looking grins pasted on their faces.

'But Ginny, there's still something...,' Harry said, not fully knowing how to breach this subject, nor how to handle it, or even if he really wanted to.

'What is it, Harry?'

'Its just that...I...I still have to...,'

'You still have to kill Tom, Harry,' Ginny said. 'I know. I'm pretty sure everyone does, at least in the backs of their minds. Of course, I'm sure Mum still hopes that Dumbledore will do it, but I've sort of always known that it had to be you. Why else would he spend so much of his energy on you?'

'So you...you're okay with that? You don't...hate me, or something? Knowing what I have to do? That I have to murder someone?'

'Harry, all of my thoughts were confirmed when we went to the ministry. We were retrieving a prophecy about you and Voldemort. What else could it be about? Hermione's not the only smart one around here,' she said, pausing while she and Harry shared a short chuckle. 'Look, Harry. I love you, and love is something that is given unconditionally. I wouldn't care if you had to kill Tom, and every single Death Eater singlehandedly. I'd still love you, and stand by your side the whole time. In fact, I'll there with you, every step of the way,' she said beaming. Harry swallowed hard. He was so very touched by her statement, yet at the same time, he wanted to keep her safe. As safe as she could be, living so entrenched in a war zone and being so close to him as she was.

'But Ginny...' he began.

'But nothing, Harry,' she said. 'I love you, and this is what people who love each other do. I know you're probably going to go all noble on me and try to save me and keep me safe. But here's the thing, Harry: you can't. Its not that you don't have the ability or anything, but I'm in too deep, anyway, even if we had never even met, let alone love each other and be together. I'm a Weasley, remember? To the Death Eaters and their buddies, my family is nothing more than blood traitors of the highest order, and if you weren't his number one target, I guarantee you my entire family would be numbers one through nine. Keeping our distance won't do anything, and neither will trying to keep me safe away from you, out of harm's way, when the fighting comes, either. Because I won't stay. Even if you try to keep me in the dark or out of the way, I'll find a way out, and I'll come to you. I'm a Gryffindor, Harry, and a Weasley, and a fighter. My whole family is involved in this fight,' she said, pausing for breath. Harry noted that she didn't mention Percy, who as far as he could tell by Ginny's and Ron's letters, and her words now, that only Molly Weasley still considered him a Weasley, 'and I am, too. I've been affected by him more than almost anyone else in my family, and almost as much and as young as you, Harry. He touched me at a young age, just like he did you. And if anyone has the right to stand beside you and fight him, when that time comes, it's me, Harry.'

'But...'

'I don't want to hear it Harry,' she said in a voice that sounded equally placating and exasperated. 'What, is it okay for my brother and best friend–who happens to be the closest thing you'll ever have to a sibling–to risk their lives with you, by your side, but not me? They can choose to fight and die by your side, but I–the woman who loves you, and whom you supposedly love–can't?!' she asked, her voice rising steadily as she spoke, until her voice was not speaking, but rather screaming, as she had worked herself into a proper rage.

'No, Ginny, that's not it...'

'Then what is it Harry!?' she challenged.

'I...I...I don't know,' Harry said. 'I think its just that, I–I don't want to lose you. You know how badly I take it when people I care about die, whether it is actually my fault or not. Imagine how I'd be if you died and I lived, Ginny,' he said, very softly, so that Ginny could barely even hear him. Immediately, Ginny felt her anger leave her like a wave crashing back into the tide, and she felt only love and sympathy for him. Her features and voice immediately softened, and she spoke softly and tenderly to answer him.

'Well, then, Harry, I guess we only have one option,' she said, leaving him to ask the question.

'And what is that?'

'Neither of can die, then. We'll fight, Harry, and we'll win. We'll WIN Harry. I just know it. You have the power to defeat him, but you need us; me, Hermione, Ron and the rest of your family to support you; and for me, that means being with you, toe-to-toe, every step of the way, Harry. And I mean that. I love you, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth, if I have to, so we can fight alongside each other, and be together, until the end, whether we have only a short time together, or the rest of our very long lives–which I sincerely hope is the case–I don't want to waste single moment of it being separated for your bloody stupid nobility complex,' she said, sighing deeply, as if a great weight had just been lifted from her shoulders.

Harry, for his part, was stunned into silence, forcing him to listen to her words, rather than trying to fight her or counter hers with his own arguments. He had to admit, he was rather touched. No, he was beyond touched, beyond moved, the way he felt for Ginny Weasley right now was far beyond he could have ever imagined. She seemed so...perfect. The fact that he had once only considered her 'little Ginny Weasley, Ron's kid sister' baffled him at this moment, for at this point in time, there was nothing surer than she had outgrown the monikers of both 'little' and 'Ron's baby sister'. Beyond that, though, he knew now, that after listening to her words, if he hadn't ever known or felt love before this moment, he hadn't needed to, because he was surer of nothing else in the world than that how Ginny felt about him was love; and that they was she made him feel was also, love. He was in love with Ginny Weasley and there was nothing he could do about it, even if he had wanted to. Which, of course, he didn't. He sighed.

'I know at this point it may be a bit silly to ask you this, Ginny,' Harry said, smiling wanly, 'but I–I–I–I love you, and well, I was wondering if you'd like to be with me,' he said, grinning boyishly at the end of his statement in a way that would make Ginny weak in the knees. She playfully slapped his chest as she laughed happily.

'Harry James Potter! If, after all that, you thought that we weren't together, I'd have to hex you!' she cried playfully. 'You did have one thing right, though, Potter,' she said, as she led him from the kitchen to the sitting room, and sat next to him on the settee.

'Oh, and what is that?' he asked playfully.

'You really are thick, sometimes,' she said, leaning in and kissing him deeply, and tenderly. The kiss was deep, tender and passionate. It was as if both of them were trying to send all of their hopes, dreams, feelings and emotions for the other to the other. It was long, and slow, and both Harry and Ginny later would swear that it could have lasted several hours, or even days, for all they knew they were so consumed in the kiss, but it more likely lasted only a few brief minutes before they pulled apart, desperate for air.

If either Harry or Ginny were aware of surroundings outside the others' hands and lips, they would have realised some very powerful magic had been released at their kiss; a pale bluish-white light had surrounded both of them, starting in their fingers and toes, and moving around each of them to form an aura, of sorts, glowing ever brighter and a darker, more brilliant shade of blue, before seemingly joining–or somehow connecting–to their partners' aura, and slowly the lights shifted, grew larger, and changed colours changing from bluish-white, to a brilliant royal blue, to a deep, robust red, to nearly all and every other colour imaginable, until it changed into a near solid, brilliantly golden hue, and grew to glow so bright that had there been any bystanders in the room, they would have had to squint and shield their eyes from the brightness, until, just as quickly as it started, it faded away, into nothingness.

As Harry and Ginny were finishing their conversation, and snogging, in the sitting room, there was a soft pop as Dobby, the free House-Elf, apparated into the kitchen of Number Four, Privet Drive. Dumbledore had given him specific instructions to check in on Harry and Ginny, but to not interfere if they were...otherwise engaged and could not engage him in conversation. He was to check on the children, prepare them something to eat, and immediately leave and report straight to Dumbledore on Harry's well-being.

Dobby, being a great friend and fan of Harry Potter, immediately agreed. He probably would have agreed if Dumbledore had asked him to clean Harry's trainers with his tongue; and done it with a smile the whole time. Luckily for Dobby, Dumbledore was not cruel to House-Elves like that.

As Dobby apparated into the kitchen he caught the last few words of their conversation and witnessed their very first snog session and the magical energy it had released. Being a house-elf, his magic was not bound to wand-work and he could readily and easily acknowledge, see, and identify raw energy, also known to some as natural magic, taking its course and working its...magic, as it happened regardless of whether or not it was accomplished with a wand or not. On seeing the magical release from Harry and Ginny's kiss, he knew exactly what he had witnessed.

_Harry Potter sir has bonded with his Weezy! He has bonded with his girl Weezy!_ He thought excitedly to himself, as the bonding magic sealed and dissipated, and he was about to apparate away, back to Hogwarts, to inform Professor Dumbledore of this new turn of events, when the front door opened, and a very large man walked into what was probably the foyer of the home, followed by a slight, blonde, slightly horse-faced woman and a very large, yet slightly athletic looking young man.

+ + + + + +

As Harry and Ginny pulled away from each other, panting and breathless, they didn't notice Dobby's presence. They did however, hear the front door open and close again, the Dursleys behind them. Harry heard his Aunt gasp loudly, a sharp intake of breath that was sure to go down in history as one of the few moments she was so truly shocked that she had no snide comment or rude remarks to make about anything immediately afterward.

Vernon, by contrast, had gone a deeply purple colour on his face, and the vein in his forehead was throbbing visibly in anger. Dudley, merely hung back to watch the all-too-sure-too-happen explosion of tempers that he knew would occur between his father and cousin.

Vernon, for a moment, was so angry, so enraged, he was at a loss for words. He was, quite literally, stunned silent. He spent nearly a minute and a half looking back and forth from a strange red-headed girl, probably around his nephew's age, and his nephew, the ungrateful little cretin that he was, sitting on his settee, red-faced, and breathless. They had been obviously getting up to something that the neighbours would find unsavoury, and would, somehow or another soil his reputation. While he had never specifically told the boy no girls were allowed while they were gone, he hadn't thought it necessary, seeing as well...what woman would ever want to be with that ungrateful little freak? But apparently he had been wrong...or at least misjudged something, somewhere along the line. But this was crossing the line. Even Dudley, his only son, couldn't bring girls home while they weren't home to supervise and make sure nothing...uncouth...occurred, which he was certain was hurting his son in that department, what with how much a little hound-dog the boy was. Took after his old man, he did. But this, this was something else entirely, and he wasn't sure what was going to happen, only that that little freak and his little slag were not going to be happy at the end result. He narrowed his eyes menacingly at his nephew, who, for his part, seemed to be nobly trying to avert his gaze from the girl to himself, while trying his best to sort something out in that god-forsaken, worthlessly thick skull of his. No doubt trying to sort out how to get out of this mess, with that freakishness of his Vernon thought menacingly. _Well not today, you ungrateful little cretin_. He thought, with just a little bit too much mirth, he finally squared his shoulders off against his nephew, narrowed his eyes and bellowed, after taking a split-second to register a strange, faint popping sound from the direction of the kitchen,

'BOY! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?'


	5. The Meaning of It All

**Author's Note: Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter, or anything in the Harry Potter universe. Complete blanket disclaimer for any and all chapters herein: Anything you recognise, I don't own. I'm just borrowing Jo's character and world. The only things that are mine are OCs and other things that are not familiar recognisable. Obviously. **

The morning after he had sent his letter to Harry, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was up nearly before the sun. For, to his displeasure, he had quite a lot of work to do, and time, as the saying went, waits for no one. Tom had returned just over a year ago–and in full corporeal form–and he was growing in power and support with surprising speed and efficiency. He had even gone so far as to attack the Ministry last spring, luring Harry and his friends there in a failed attempt to rescue Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, whom they had believed to be held and tortured there.

Sirius Black was another complicated issue altogether. Until very late the previous evening he had very much believed that Sirius Black was killed at the Ministry by his deranged cousin, Bellatrix LeStrange. However, the appearance last night of Sirius Black at the gates of Hogwarts had complicated the issue quite a bit. He was, needless to say, shocked, to see Sirius Black alive and in the flesh, and at the gates of Hogwarts, requesting an audience with him. After an initial challenge to determine that he was who he claimed to be, and a fair bit of yelling and a few hexes (courtesy of Mr. Black) later, and a few more hours of explanation (or at least, as well as possible, given the circumstances), Albus was officially brought up to speed on the issues relating to both Sirius Black and Harry Potter, and he resolved to change certain of his methods in regards to the boy. After sending messages of the new development, Sirius had left him with a strange, black, oblong container in his possession, which he was, as yet, unable to open. Sirius claimed that it was somehow from Lily Potter, and that he would be able to open it when 'the time was right', and left promptly thereafter (presumably to Grimmauld Place), and Albus Dumbledore sat down at his desk to write a letter to a brooding boy in Surrey before heading off to Devon via the Floo.

That was already quite a few hours ago, he reflected quietly to himself, shaking himself out of his reflective reverie as he focused, yet again, on the paperwork in front of him which he was supposed to be working on. Not ten minutes after he had turned his quill back to the various requisition forms in front of him, he was interrupted once again, this time by the head of his good friend and confidant, Minerva McGonagall floating in his fireplace.

'Albus!' she cried, appearing slightly flustered, which was odd for the stoic old professor, telling Dumbledore volumes before she even said anything. 'Albus, come here quickly, please!' she added after she knew she had gotten his attention.

'What is the matter, Minerva?'

'Its the scroll,' she said, referring to the magical scroll that recorded the names of each and every magical child in Britain and Ireland, as they became eligible to attend Hogwarts. 'Its acting quite...strangely,' she added, somewhat guarded in her response, as if she didn't want to give too much away without talking to Professor Dumbledore in person.

'I'll be right there, Minerva,' he said, as she pulled her head out of the fireplace, Albus made his way over to it and Flooed to her office. As soon as he stepped out of the fireplace, he was greeted by a frazzled looking Minerva McGonagall who ushered him towards the scroll.

The name 'The Scroll' was actually quite a bit of a misnomer, as it was actually a rather large, and quite ancient leather-bound book, with and equally large, ancient and imposing bronze seal on t he front binding. It rested on a custom-made mahogany stand that held in a perpetually open position, the stand itself sat on a dark obsidian dais in the far corner of the office, protected from mischievous students by cleverly designed wards. Above the book perpetually hovered a shockingly bright purple quill–this was the magical artefact that actually did the recording of the names–and only ever ceased its hovering to record a name.

'Here,' McGonagall said, pointing to the last name on the page, below all the other prospective First-Year Students. The name was unique to the others in two ways, however: first, after the name was included an age, where all the others didn't, as it was assumed that they were all aged-eleven, or would be come September the First, and in some rare cases, twelve. The second was the name itself. There, in the scroll, was a name he'd never thought he'd see:

Elizabeth (McKenna-Black) Watson, aged 16 and-one-half.

'But Albus, how is that possible?' Minerva asked, finally regaining her composure. 'Sirius and Marlene never...they didn't...they were never married...she..died...before...,' she said, trailing off, not needing to finish her sentence.

Dumbledore had pursed his lips, but with a hint of a smirk, and his eyes were dancing.

'What? Well, I just figured...they were both good kids...,' Minerva said, shocked at Dumbledore's bluntness.

'And that is still true. And Sirius is a good man. And I'm sure Marlene would have been a good woman, as well, had she been given the opportunity. They were children of the seventies, Minerva,' he said, letting his sentence and its inherent double-entendre hang in the air.

'You...You knew about this, didn't you, Albus?' Dumbledore smiled a bit before he sighed and gave his admission.

'I did. Sirius told me about the child the minute he found out, but he swore me to secrecy. He didn't even tell James, and Marlene did not tell Lily or any of her other friends. Neither of them told anyone, save me. Then, as you know, the McKenna's were attacked, and I was the first at the scene. Marlene was, as you know, unfortunately no longer with us. But the child–the child was still alive–in fact, Marlene was close enough to her due date, that the baby was born while I inspected the bodies, right there in the room. So, I took her, just like I had taken Harry–or rather, would be taking Harry a year or so later, should I say–but I brought her to a Muggle adoption agency. I figured she would be safe and loved by a Muggle family, who knew nothing of our war–and if she was a witch, which I had no doubts of, at first, even though at times pre-mature magical children end up as squibs, as I'm sure you know, she would then be raised as a Muggleborn, until such a time as she needed to be told,' he said, pausing for breath, as Minerva surveyed him with a scrutinising eye. _He means well, of course,_ she thought, _but he really is a meddlesome old geezer_ she thought ruefully.

Dumbledore continued, shaking her out of her reverie, 'Her name didn't appear on t he Register, so I assumed that she was a squib, unfortunate for us as that may have been. I even thought, on occasion, it may have been better for her that way. It appears, however, that I was mistaken.'

Apparently,' McGonagall replied. 'So, she doesn't know she's adopted?'

'I don't think so. I told the Muggle agency that I was her grandfather, but that I was a poor pensioner and so couldn't raise her and–only slightly stretching the truth–that all her other family was dead, so she was given priority, and adopted less than a week after going to the agency'

'And the fact that she is a witch?'

Quite doubtful, all things considered,' he said. Minerva nodded knowingly.

'But why now? Most children come into their abilities by age seven or so, and she is, well, quite a bit older, to say the least'

'Your guess is as good as mine, Minerva. Perhaps she is just a–what is the term?–ah yes, a 'late bloomer', or perhaps her magic was 'dormant' so to speak, and it somehow came to the fore now for some reason or another; perhaps she unknowingly came into contact with someone magical–one thing is for certain, though–I believe it is time for me to take a visit to Ms. Watson. What is her address?'

McGonagall shuffled through papers on her desk for a few moments, before replying,

'Ah yes, here it is: Number 12, Wisteria Walk, Little Winging, Surrey, GU2 7XH,' she said, smirking as realisation dawned on hers and Dumbledore's faces.

'Well, I don't think I needed the Muggle post-codes, Minerva,' Dumbledore said. 'But I do believe that now I have a theory,' he added, smirking, as he turned an eagle-feather quill into a Portkey, and, in a flash, he was gone.

+ + + + + + +

When the spinning of the Portkey finally stopped, Dumbledore landed (cleanly, and on his feet, of course) in Mrs. Figg's sitting room. She was, of course, notably surprised, to say the least, nearly jumping out of her skin and sending her tea flying all over the floor.

After a quick _scourgify_ charm, Albus turned to Mrs. Figg.

'Ah, Arabella! Excellent! I wanted to tell you that young Miss Weasley will be Flooing here from the Burrow at half-one this afternoon, just as we discussed,' he said, smiling broadly.

'That's lovely, Albus,' she said. 'But did you need to Portkey directly into my sitting room at this hour? Couldn't you have just Floo-called?'

'My dear Arabella,' Dumbledore said placatingly. 'I am terribly sorry for my dreadful behaviour. Please pardon my intrusion at such an early hour, but it appears that I have other business in Little Winging this morning. If you could please tell me where the Watson family lives, I shall be on my way,' he said, smiling warmly.

'Oh, right. Of...of course, Albus,' she said, quickly regaining her demeanour. 'They're down at Number 12, just walk out my front door, turn left and keep going until you get to Number 12. They just moved in a month or so ago, Albus, and don't have any young children. I don't see what you could possibly need to visit them for,' she said, trailing off, as Dumbledore raising his hand for her to stop.

'Don't worry, Arabella. I have my reasons, and that is all you need to know, for now,' he said heading out the door.

'Yeah, well, it better not be another battered magical child I need to keep an eye on, its hard enough watching what they do to Harry, with you not letting me do anything about it,' she muttered, and Dumbledore pretended to ignore her.

'Trust me, Arabella, it is nothing of the sort,' he said, walking towards the front door. 'Dobby!' he called. With a soft crack, the excitable House-Elf appeared at their feet, and bowed so low that his ears nearly swept the ground.

'Yes, Professor Dumbly-dore? Professor is asking something of Dobby? What can Dobby do for Harry Potter's Professor Dumbles?' Dobby asked, not noticing the sparkling eyes of Dumbledore's mirth, or Mrs. Figg's near laughter.

'Yes, Dobby, I did. At half-one this afternoon, Miss Ginevra Weasley will be coming through Mrs. Figg's Floo to spend the day with young Mr. Potter. I have arranged for his relations to spend the day away, however, just as a precaution, I want you to go there at no later than two and make sure they are okay. I don't want you to interfere in their business, no matter what it is, whatsoever. You are to merely observe, and report back to me, and that only if necessary. If there is trouble with, say, his relations, I want you to immediately come directly to me, and I will deal with the problems as they arise, am I clear?' Dobby simply nodded his head furiously, obviously anxious to do any kind of work relating to Harry Potter. Dumbledore continued, 'Since you are technically a free Elf, I cannot order you to do anything, Dobby, but I am asking you to do this for me, and for Harry. Will you do this for us?'

Dobby's eyes went wide when he realised that Dumbledore was asking him, as an equal, to do something so obviously important–guarding Harry Potter, and all he could do, for a good minute was nod fervently. After that, he babbled nearly incoherently for a few minutes, and between Dumbledore and Mrs. Figg, they could only catch the words 'Of course' 'Professor Dumbles' 'Great Wizard Harry Potter' 'his Wheezy' and 'great honour' before Dobby disapparated with a loud crack. With that business done, Albus Dumbledore walked out of Arabella Figg's home, turned left and, after transfiguring his robes into a nice, but seemingly rather old and well-worn grey suit, rang the bell at Number 12, as Mrs. Figg called out to him behind his back that his plans for today had better work for Harry, because she was sick of sitting by and doing nothing knowing how horribly he was being treated.

+ + + + + + + +

Professor Dumbledore did not need to wait long for the door to open and was greeted by a tall, rather attractive woman. She had brownish-blonde hair, light blue eyes that were rather round, and a slight frame that helped her figure.

'Hello,' she said pleasantly. 'May I help you?'

'Yes, I believe you may. Mrs. Watson, I presume?'

'Yes, who are you?'

'My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore, and I have an amazing opportunity for further education and study for your daughter that I would like to talk you, and her, about. Might I come in?' he asked, giving her a winning smile, and instantly whatever unease Mrs. Watson had felt for the strange man on her front step, immediately disappeared, as she ushered him into her home, chattering excitedly.

'I'm afraid that Elizabeth is out at the moment, she's at the park down the street. Should I go get her?' she asked.

'Not just yet, Mrs. Watson,' Dumbledore began.

'Emily'

'Pardon?'

'Call me Emily, Professor,'

'Ah, yes. Alright, Emily. But then I must insist on you calling me Albus' he said.

Okay, Albus. That is a rather interesting name,' she said, making conversation. 'Is it foreign?'

'No, I'm afraid it is nowhere near as interesting as that,' he said. 'My parents were merely...eccentric, shall we say,' he said, trying to make conversation light. 'But more on that later. Is your husband home?'

'Oh, yes, he's grading essays in his study,' she said. 'John's a Professor himself,' she said, proudly. 'Just got a full Professorship at Royal Holloway,' she said. 'Let me go get him,' Emily said as she stood up from the sofa she had been occupying previously, opposite Dumbledore, and made her way to the foot of the stairs.

'JOHN!' she called, quite loudly.

'What is it Emily?' Dumbledore heard called rather loudly and clearly back down the stairs.

'Put those essays away for right now! We have a visitor!'

'Who is it?'

'A Professor Albus Dumbledore! He says he's here to talk about Ellie!'

'Is he here from Islington and City?'

Elizabeth looked at Dumbledore with questioning eyes seeking confirmation, and Dumbledore shook his head in the negative.

'He says he's not!'

'Good! I told those wankers I don't want my daughter going to Sixth Form in London anymore, let alone all the way in Islington!' He called down the stairs, and after a brief pause during which shuffling of papers and opening and closing of metal drawers of file cabinets could be heard, after which he called 'I'll be right down! Just give me a minute!'

Satisfied at his reaction, Emily Watson returned to the sofa in the sitting room from the foot of the stairs, and said to Professor Dumbledore,

'John will be joining us in just a minute, Albus. What did you say your school was called?'

'I didn't,' Dumbledore replied. 'I think it best if we wait to get down to business until your husband joins us.'

A few moments later, a very tall, gangly man with dark brown hair, and dark brown eyes that belied a deep curiosity and cunning intellect walked into the room. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt and wrinkled khaki trousers, and on his nose were perched a pair of square, wire-rimmed glasses. He sat down next to his wife, opposite Dumbledore and extended his hand.

'Hello, I'm Professor John Watson. Nice to meet you,' he said, pleasantly.

'The pleasure is all mine,' Dumbledore said as he took the offered hand. 'Professor Albus Dumbledore,' he said. 'But please, you can call me simply Albus'

'So, Albus,' John said, 'What is your specialisation?'

'I have multiple degrees, Professor Watson,' Dumbledore said, 'but my primary area of focus was always history, literature, and archaeological sciences,' he said, getting into the swing of what he knew he must do.

'Really?' John said. 'I teach literature myself,' he said, allowing himself to relax in the presence of this wizened old professor.

'So I heard. Your wife was just telling me you have just gotten a position at Royal Holloway. Congratulations.'

'Thank you,' John said

'John, maybe we should get down to business...,' Emily prodded.

'Oh right. Right, of course, my dear,' John said. 'So, Albus, Emily tells me you want to discuss with us some opportunity you have for Ellie?'

'That is correct,' Dumbledore said, pausing for a minute, wondering how to best handle this. Diving right in to the facts was not always the best approach, he had learned rather early on in his professional career. This was always the hardest part of his job, telling Muggles about the existence of magic.

'I am the Headmaster of a very prestigious, little known preparatory school in the Scottish highlands,' he began. 'It is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and...,'

'Wait a second, Professor,' Emily cut him off. 'Did you just say, 'School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'?'

'Yes, I did, my dear,' Dumbledore said, pretending as if he had just said it was an Anglican Sixth-Form college. Apparently, however, just pretending that magic was everyday wasn't going to fly for these Muggles.

'You can't be serious, Albus,' John said, nearly laughing, he was so incredulous. 'You must be having us on. Come on now, what is your school really called?'

'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is located in the far North Highlands of Scotland and is very prestigious; it is probably one of, if not the, best wizarding school in Europe, if I do say so myself,' he continued.

'You're having me on, aren't you?' John said.

'No, not at all, sir,' Albus replied.

'What is this, like a stage school, or something?' Emily asked. 'I mean, we both know that Ellie wants to be an actress, and she applied to the London Arts Educational Schools, but we didn't let her go because we want her to have a broader education than just acting,' she said, trailing off. 'This would be just like her to think of some kind of elaborate prank like this,' she said, smirking.

'I assure you, Mrs. Watson, this is no prank, and Hogwarts is not a Stage School, although some of our alumni have gone on to become famous on the stage,' he said. 'No, we are a school for young witches and wizards to grow and learn...' he said, before he was cut off by John Watson, once again.

'What do you mean, 'young witches and wizards'? We don't take any stock in that new-agey Wicca bullocks. We're C of E all the way, and have been since Henry VIII. If you look in the register in Canterbury, you'll see Watsons listed as Church Fathers as far back as the 1530's. If this is some whacko religious school, you can just stop right there,' he said.

'I assure you, Professor, that this is not some crazy religious school, as you put it. And very few of our students buy into the 'new-agey Wicca bullocks' as you put it, sir. The large majority of our students are Christian, about 50 percent of our entire student body belonging to the Church of England, a further 20 percent being Catholic, another ten percent being either Eastern Orthodox or Eastern Catholic, and the remaining 20 percent being made up of various other religions, including Judaism, Islam, Sikhism, and various Hindu faiths, or having no declared faith or religion at all,' Dumbledore said, rattling off the statistics he had memorised so many years ago.

'Then what are you going on about all this witches and wizard nonsense?' John asked, the very epitome of an academic, not taking anything at face value or pure belief; it needed to be verified and seen with his own eyes to be considered true. Albus sighed deeply and began to try another approach.

'Your daughter is adopted, is she not?'

'Wha–How...How did you know that?'

'Because I am the one who brought her to the Adoption Centre'

'Why would you do that,' John asked, a slight edge to his voice, 'Are you family? Did you simply abandon her when she was so young?'

'What? No, no nothing like that, I assure you. I was...very close with both of her birth parents. Her mother...was murdered the day she was born. In fact, that is why she was born when she was, the stress of the murder caused her mother's body to birth the child even though she was already dead. She was technically a month premature. And her father. Her father was very close to me. He knew her mother died, and thought that she died with her. I didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise. It was for the best anyway, because not long after, he would be as good as dead himself,' he said, sighing.

'Alcoholism?' Emily prodded lightly, jumping to the most common conclusion to the way he had to tell the story. It seemed that it seemed reasonable for Sirius to drink himself into oblivion (which he did have a tendency to do) but not anything else.

'No, I'm afraid it's not anything like that. I'm afraid it was much worse. He was accused of, and imprisoned for, a heinous crime he did not commit, without trial or rightful representation in the court. While he has gotten out a year or so ago, his name has yet to be cleared, so even if he knew she was alive and wanted to, he could not legally adopt her. As I'm sure you wouldn't want anyway,'

'Well, thats true enough,' Emily said.

'But what does this have to do with anything?' John asked.

'Both Marlene, Ellie's mother, and Sirius, her father, were students of mine. Very capable, bright students of mine, I might add,' he said, smiling fondly.

'Wait, so you mean that...both her parents went to this Hogwarts place?'

'That is correct, Emily. They both attended my school, and received top marks. They were both very skilled witches and wizards respectively. And Ellie has had a spot on our register ever since we recognised that she inherited the gift'

Wait, I'm still very confused, Professor,' John said. 'What, exactly, are you saying?'

'I'm saying, John, that magic–real magic, not those smoke and mirror sleight of hand nonsense you see at carnivals–is real. It really exists. You and your kind, meaning non-magical folks, or what we call 'Muggles'–don't worry, its not a derogatory term–don't know of its existence because it is against our laws to reveal the existence of magic to any non-magical person, unless it is necessary circumstances. One of those situations is very similar to this: there are some members of our community, in fact, Ellie's birth mother was one, that are born magical to a family that has no previous magical heritage. We call these children Muggleborns, and when it comes time for them to come to Hogwarts, we naturally have to tell their parents, and immediate and some extent, extended , families of the existence of magic,' he said, pausing for breath. 'These are all afforded in the 1698 International Confederation of Wizard's Statute of Secrecy. However, your daughters' case is unique. As I told you, due to her parents, she had a space available on our roll as soon as we realised she had come into her abilities, yes?' he paused, waiting for both of the stunned Watson to nod dumbly, which they did, before continuing.

'The same thing is the case with every student at Hogwarts, and in fact, every wizarding child born in the UK and Ireland,' he said, before he was cut off by John Watson.

'So you mean she didn't apply to this school of yours? Because I was going to say, that I don't think she knows she has these powers...I mean, she's never done anything that special, in that way, you know what I mean? She's never flown on a broomstick, or threw fireballs, or anything,' he said, in a voice that was hard to tell if it was relieved or not.

'Oh no, you can't apply to Hogwarts. Its a school that is run by invitation only. That said, every magical student in the British Isles is invited to attend. And most do. Some, of course, are homeschooled, and some of the Muggleborn students decide not to attend, but rather either get private tutors in the relevant subjects, or ignore their abilities–that second option is never a good idea. Trust me, magical ability is not something that can be suppressed or ignored. But as I was saying, every student in the British Isles gets added to our role of students with an offer of a place at Hogwarts once we are notified–by magic, of course–of their coming into their abilities. Unfortunately for Miss Watson, due to the unfortunate circumstances of her birth, we feared that she may wind up a Squib, which is basically a child of wizarding families that exhibit no magical abilities. She just very recently came into her abilities, and we're not completely sure why. I have a few theories, of course, but at the moment, that is not important. The important thing, at this stage, is getting your daughter involved in her magical education, and Hogwarts is the best place to do it, if I do say so myself.'

'What do you mean, came into her abilities late? Does that mean she's developmentally behind or something? Is she some kind of magical equivalent of special needs?' her mother asked, visibly worried, who seemed to be a bit more accepting of magic than her husband, who added,

'That is, of course, assuming that this magic thing is actually real,' he said, slightly sarcastically.

'I assure you, Mr. Watson, it is very much real, and I will prove it to you after we have finished our discussion. And no, Mrs. Watson, it doesn't mean she is special needs or anything like that. It just means that she is, for lack of a better term, a magical 'late bloomer' and her magic was dormant for far longer than most magical children. Most magical children come into their abilities by doing what we call 'accidental magic' and it usually happens by around the age of seven. The traditional age for studying at Hogwarts is from ages eleven to seventeen. Of course, we feel that it is of utmost importance for your daughter to learn to control and harness her abilities, so as Headmaster, I have decided to make an exception for her case, if you do decide to send her to Hogwarts, and special circumstances and alterations of the curriculum will be made available for her, should she attend,' he said, pausing for breath, and to let the information sink in.

Several times Mr. Watson opened his mouth and made as if to speak, but no words came out of his mouth for several long minutes, until finally he was able find words to ask his questions.

'Right. Well...um...well...you see...Professor, that sounds all well and good, but you have yet to prove to us that this is actually real,' he said.

'Ah, of course, of course, a demonstration is in order,' Dumbledore said. 'A true academic. Never taking anything on faith or face value. I like that. I will of course, show you a little bit now, to, shall we say, whet your appetite, but I fear that the true demonstration cannot occur until we have told Ellie about her magical abilities–don't worry, you don't have to tell her she's adopted if you don't want. We can just tell her she is a Muggle born–but we must tell her about her magical abilities, whether she attends Hogwarts or not. In the mean time, I will show you a tiny bit of what your daughter will be learning at our school,' he said, withdrawing his wand from his suit coat pocket.

'This is my wand. I use it to control the magic and to do with it what I want it to do. Your daughter will need to get one, and it will be specially made for her, each wand is unique, you know. The wand chooses the wizard after all, yeah?' he said, rambling a bit, knowing his last few sentences made little to no sense to the Watsons.

He pointed his wand at the rather large telly sitting in the corner of the room and with a small circular swishing motion, turned it into a birdcage with a rather large bird in it. With another flick of his wand, the birdcage grew long, golden bird-like legs of its own out of the bottom of the cage, the large bird had disappeared from the cage, and the cage itself had turned into a very large bird. Standing the corner of the room, where the telly had sat not a minute before, now stood a very large, and very confused looking ostrich. It cocked its head to the side, contemplating the three adults sitting down, attempted to burrow its head into the plush carpeting of the Watson's sitting room, failed, and squawked loudly, again looking at the Professor, in particular. After a moment or two, Dumbledore returned to ostrich to telly form. The two Watsons sat in stunned silence for a long moment, until John Watson's stomach aurally demanded it be fed.

'Oh, my dear! Where are my manners?!' Emily Watson cried, jumping up from the sofa and heading into the kitchen. 'I'm afraid Ellie probably won't be back until a bit later, she said she was going to the park but was going to talk to a friend of hers she met the other day before coming home. But you're welcome to stay here and wait for her with us, Albus. Would you like to join us for lunch?' she called out to the men from the kitchen.

'Of course, Emily. That would be absolutely lovely, thank you. I'm afraid I haven't brought anything to contribute for the meal, however,' he said evenly.

'Oh, not to worry. We have plenty. We weren't planning on company, but we weren't planning on anything that you've told us so far today, so we're about par for the course, aren't we? And you know what they say, the more the merrier,' she said as she touted about the kitchen, banging pots onto the hob and rummaging through the cupboards for something to fix for a nice lunch for the three of them, plus Ellie, if she showed up.

The two professors remained in the sitting room, either sitting quietly in contemplation of the day's events thus far, or having a quiet polite conversation about many things, running the gamut from schools and the work it is to run them and teach pupils, to sports, to the weather, to various kinds of international politics, to Dumbledore telling him all he could, as long as John would listen, about the wizarding world (current war excluded, of course). Eventually, Emily called them to the table for lunch and they moved from the sitting room to the kitchen, never losing pace with their conversation.

They had just sat down to a simple lunch of sandwiches and crisps when they heard the front door open and then close again, and Ellie walked into the kitchen, seemingly unaware of her family's guest.

'You're home early, dear,' her mother commented nonchalantly.

'Yeah, well, I went to go talk with Harry–I told you about him yesterday, remember-?,' She paused and her mother nodded, '–But I guess he's already taken my advice, which is really good, of course. Today he'd already had plans with Ginny, the girl he's crazy about but doesn't quite realise it yet–and if they're not already snogging, they will be very shortly, and I just didn't feel like going to the play park today, especially by myself, so I came back for lunch; I'm starv–oh, hello,' she said, finally noticing Professor Dumbledore for the first time.

'Hello, Miss Watson,' Professor Dumbledore said.

'Ellie, this is Professor Dumbledore,' her mother said. 'He's actually here to talk to you.'

'To me? What for? I don't know any Professor Dumbledores-,' she said, trailing off thoughtfully until she seemed to come to some sort of realisation. 'Professor Dumbledore?,' she said, turning to face Albus. 'You're Harry's Headmaster, aren't you?'

'I am. I see you've met Mr. Potter, then?'

'Yes, why?'

'Oh, no reason. No reason at all,' Dumbledore said amiably. 'So, he told you about Hogwarts, then?' he paused while she nodded. 'I take it that's also how you know about Miss Weasley?' Again, he waited while Ellie nodded the affirmative. 'What, exactly, did Harry tell you about school, Miss Watson?'

'Not much, really. He was actually kind of secretive about it, now that I think about it–he would only tell me that it was very selective, and in the middle of nowhere in the Scottish highlands. Why?'

'Oh, don't worry about that, my dear. Not yet, anyway,' Dumbledore said. 'There are a few things I need to discuss with you; do you think we could perhaps move to the sitting room?' he asked.

'Um, sure, Professor. I–I guess we could do that,' she said, getting up from the kitchen table and making her way into the sitting room, followed by Professor Dumbledore as well as her parents. Albus sat directly across from her in a chair she was sure wasn't there when she left the house earlier in the morning.

'I would like to offer you a place at Hogwarts–my school,' Professor Dumbledore said.

'But I thought your school–Hogwarts was it-?' Ellie began, pausing to see if Albus nodded in the affirmative or not, 'was very selective–Harry said that he was on the register since he was born because his parents went there, and if they hadn't, he probably wouldn't have gotten in; I've never applied there, I mean, I've never even heard of it!,' she said.

She paused before she continued, saying, 'And besides, Dad says I have to go to Stonewall High, even though I wanted to stay at St. James. And I could've, too, it's not too far a train ride into London from here. So, I mean–how could I have been accepted to Hogwarts, Sir?' she said, trailing off, a slight pout to her face and voice.

'All excellent points, and all quite true I might add. I feel as if I should be awarding points to one of our school Houses, but unfortunately you have yet to be sorted!' he said, chuckling, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter behind his half-moon spectacles. 'You see, the answer is really very simple. Our school has...ways...to pre-screen and monitor individuals we believe may be strong potential applicants, without their knowing, and without their need to submit an application for study,' he said. 'And don't worry,' he said, conspiratorially in a stage-whisper, 'I've told your Dad and Mum all about Hogwarts, and shown them the amount of A-Levels and other high level work our students do, and I think I've gotten them more or less convinced to let you attend, should you wish,' he said.

'Well, that's all well and good, I guess,' Ellie said, 'but I want to know what that means when you say you have 'ways' of monitoring potential students,' she said, slightly miffed, thinking perhaps the people at this school were invading her privacy or something similarly less than pleasant to think about.

'Oh, no, don't worry, Miss Watson,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'We would never spy on you or anything of that sort,' he said as if he could read her mind.

'What? How did you-?,' Ellie stuttered a few times, trying to find the words to form coherent sentences with which to question the Professor, but after a few attempts, she resigned herself to her shock and remained silent.

'Miss Watson–Ellie-,' Professor Dumbledore said, pausing briefly to compose his thoughts. 'There is no easy way to put this, so I am just going to come right out and say it: Elizabeth Watson, you are a Witch. You can perform magic–real magic. And Hogwarts is a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.'

Ellie's eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline, and collapsed on the sofa she was sitting on, howling in a fit of laughter. After she had calmed down a bit, and had wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes, she asked Professor Dumbledore, quite soberly,

'I'm a witch?'

'Yes, you are. And I am a wizard. And I run a school for young people just like you, so that they can learn to harness and control their abilities-,' he said, and Ellie just stared at him disbelieving every word coming out of his mouth.

'You're serious?' she asked, as if waiting for the punch line for a joke, or people from those prank shows on the telly to jump out from behind the curtains and tell her it was all an elaborate prank, and then they'd all have a good laugh, and she'd call her friends and tell them to watch her on the telly. When none of this happened, after quite a few minutes, she repeated, with a tad more worry to her voice, 'You're really serious? No, no you can't be serious-can you? This is all some kind of elaborate joke, innit? There's no such thing as magic–right?'

'I'm afraid,' Dumbledore said, since her mum and dad were still trying to come to terms with this fact themselves, and could not speak to the truth of Albus' statements, 'that it is, in fact, real. And you can, in fact, use it. You are what we in the magical world call a Muggle-born; a witch or wizard born into a family with no previously known magical background.' He paused for a moment to let this sink in, and when Ellie had not made any move to question or voice any concerns, he continued with his long-practised speech.

'Don't worry, neither Muggle, nor Muggle-born are derogatory terms; they simply mean someone who is non magical. And there are plenty of Muggle-born witches and wizards in Britain's wizarding community, and quite a few at Hogwarts. In fact, one of Mr. Potter's good friends–a Miss Hermione Granger–is Muggleborn. And while I dare say I shouldn't be admitting to this, as a Headmaster since I am supposed to give the impression that I am impartial, I must say that she is by far one of the brightest witches I have ever seen, and without a doubt the brightest in her year.'

Again, Ellie made no noise, probably due to shock at the most recent revelations, but the Headmaster decided to continue on with his speech now that he had gained some headway and some time to speak uninterrupted.

'The reason that you do not know that magic is actually real and does, in fact, exist, is by design. Since you were born to Muggle parents, you didn't know because our laws–those being special laws particularly for wizarding Britain–forbid Muggles to know about magic, and the existence of our society, unless absolutely necessary. We call it the Statute of Secrecy and it has been in place since the late 17th century. One of the times that it is deemed necessary for Muggles to learn about the existence of magic is the situation we find ourselves in today: that they have a child who is a Muggle-born witch or wizard, and they must know of its existence in order to send their child to school. Do you have any questions so far?' Ellie shook her head, and he knew that he had already explained most of this to Mr and Mrs. Watson, and so had already answered most of their questions.

'The unique thing about your case, Miss Watson, is the age in which you have come into your powers.' He said.

'What do you mean? Am I like, deficient or something?' she asked levelly. Professor Dumbledore thought she was taking this earth-shattering, life-altering news quite well and rather maturely, all things considered, and he hoped that this was not just a front, and that she was, in fact, already accepting of the facts. Regardless of whether she was or wasn't, he began to explain to her the details, at least, as much as he knew of them.

'You see, Ellie, most magical children come into their powers at a much younger age than you did; usually by the age of seven or so they show signs of what we call 'accidental magic'. This is normally harmless, but sometimes quite powerful, childish outbursts of uncontrolled magic. It very raw and natural, and as such, very much tied to strong emotions. So if a child is very angry, or sad, or scared, or even extremely happy, the magic will manifest itself related to those emotions. Sometimes it is magically transporting the child out of a perceived danger, like a schoolyard bully, or other times it may be things that they really want, but thought were lost or gone 'magically' reappear, or sometimes, it may be other things, like regrown hair, changed hair colour, or even manipulation of nature, like flowers or small animals. Now, its important to remember, especially for those later examples, that accidental magic is very raw and crude, and only lasts for a short time, usually it is just a quick burst of magic in order to solve the immediate problem the child perceives. Now, I've already spoken to your parents, and they can't remember any accidental magic when you were growing up. Can you?'

'No, Professor. I can't think of anything like that. Except...,' she trailed off, not knowing if she should continue or not.

'Until a few days ago, am I correct in this assumption?'

Ellie stared silently at Professor Dumbledore for upwards of a minute, not speaking, looking at him as if he had sprouted a second–and possibly a third–head. Until finally, in a voice just above a whisper, 'Yes, a few days ago.'

Would you mind telling me what it was?'

'Well, there were a few things, actually. The first was about a week ago, and our fuses broke in the evening, and mum and dad were in London for a night out, but I decided to stay home and do some reading, and watch telly and stuff. You know, just sort of lounge about,' she said.

Continuing her story, she said, 'Anyway, you remember about a week ago we got that big storm around tea time. Well, I was watching my favourite programme on the telly and the fuses blew, so the box went out. I remember thinking to myself that I really wanted the electricity back on so that I could watch telly and cook myself something to eat, and the next thing I know, everything was back on. But I remember the next day that Dad said that the fuses blew and had to fix them, and had no idea why the electricity was still running,' she said.

Dumbledore smiled, and prodded her to continue, but he thought he heard her father whisper quietly in the background, 'I thought it was the generator'.

'You said there were a few other instances?' Dumbledore gently prodded Ellie.

'Yes, there was only one more that I can really remember, although I think there may have been a few other ones that I didn't notice or remember. But anyway, the other one was a few days ago, when Mum told me she didn't want to let me get coloured cosmetic contact lenses for my eyes. I know I don't need the lenses to see, but they make them for cosmetic purposes so you can change your eye colour, and I wanted to experiment with eye colour, cos I think I'd look good with blue eyes rather than hazel, but Mum didn't want me to start 'going crazy' or whatever. Long story short, when I woke up the next day, my eyes were blue,' she said, nonchalantly. She did, however, notice her mother narrow her eyes at her daughter, however slightly, at this revelation, even if she didn't acknowledge it.

'Yes, just as I suspected. You're just starting to come into your abilities now, for some reason,' Dumbledore said.

'What does that mean, Professor? Am I...remedial, or something?'

'Oh no, not at all, Miss Watson. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, certain individuals just come into their abilities later than most. I believe the term is called 'late bloomer', as it were. Unfortunately, I don't know why, for certain, you are such a late bloomer, but that is something I will investigate as fully as possible at a later date, perhaps after school has started,' he said. 'Now there is the issue of your admission to Hogwarts to discuss, I believe...,' he began, only to be cut off by Ellie.

'Hold on a second, Professor. Prove it.'

'What?'

'Prove it. Prove to me that magic exists.'

'But haven't you already accepted that this is real? You told me yourself about doing bursts of accidental magic.'

'I never said they were accidental magic. To me, they were just weird things that happened that I can't explain. Prove to me that it is magic, Sir.'

Professor Dumbledore sighed audibly, realising finally that she, like her parents, would need proof of its existence. It wasn't something he should have been surprised about, he thought to himself. He just wished that, for once, someone would just accept the existence of magic without hassle; much like young Harry had when he was given his first Hogwarts letter.

Slowly he withdrew his wand out of his suit coat pocket, and like he did with her parents, explained what it was, and how she would get her own before she started her studies. Again, he turned the telly in the corner into a birdcage, and then an ostrich, like he had with her parents, and he also added a few other transformations, including spelling her hair lime green for a short time, before turning it back to dirty blonde, and, his crowning achievement of the day, he thought, was revealing to them his animagus form: an old, regal-looking owl. After he turned back into his human form and saw their shocked gazes, he asked simply,

'Do you require any more proof, Miss Watson?' she simply shook her head in the negative, her mouth hanging open dumbly in what could only be interpreted as being in a state of amazed shock.

'Now then,' he said, bringing everyone back to the immediate business at hand, 'I believe there is the business of your admission to Hogwarts to discuss...,' he said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing her Hogwarts Letter, book list, as well as all the other pertinent information that the muggle born students usually required, before continuing. 'Here is your admittance letter, your book and supply lists, and other supplementary information for your parents,' he said, handing each item over as he mentioned it, before continuing.

'Now, it will be a slightly sticky situation for you, being such a late bloomer. Most students begin their first year at age 11, and in order for me to be able to place you in with people your own age, like Mr. Potter, or even a year below, like Miss Weasley, there are multiple years' worth of work, plus major examinations for you to master and pass. I could put you straight into First Year, although that would be rather awkward socially for you, I should think,' he said, more thinking to himself out loud, than particularly speaking to the Watsons.

He continued, 'Or, I could try and place you into a slightly higher year, maybe try for fifth year...yes...Fifth year would be good...they'll be taking their O.W.L.s this year, and with a strict tutoring regimen over the summer and during the year, I should think you'll be able to catch up quite nicely, but that might be a bit of an imposition on your parents, having to set up a potions lab and such in the house here...,' he said, a bit more strongly to her than himself this time, but still slightly rambling.

'Professor?' Ellie asked.

'Yes, Miss Watson?'

'Do I have to go to Hogwarts?'

'What do you mean, Miss Watson?'

'I mean just what I asked, Professor. Is it required for me to attend Hogwarts?'

'Well, technically not, no. Some students are homeschooled, and others go to America, or the Conitnent for their studies. But I must advise you to come to school starting immediately, Ellie, in order for you to learn how to properly harness and control your abilities. Because while you do have the option to not learn them, to attempt to ignore your gifts, I would strongly advise against it. There have only been a few recorded cases of people who have done that, and for good reason: it never winds up ending well for them. You can ignore your gifts for a while, Ellie, but after a while they will catch up to you, and if you do not know how to harness and control them, the results could be very dangerous, indeed,' he said, sombrely.

'Oh, no, I didn't mean I didn't want to learn it at all, Professor,' she said, and his demeanour visibly improved. 'I just mean, do I have to go to Hogwarts? Could I maybe, stay at my normal, er Muggle, school and maybe learn magic on the side? It's just that I'm doing my A-Levels this year, and I need to get three As and a B to get into either Oxford or Cambridge for the programme I want, and something tells me that Hogwarts doesn't offer A-Levels in drama, fine art, music and creative writing,' she said, chuckling.

'Unfortunately, you are correct. We do not offer those courses,' he said. Continuing, he asked, 'Those are some deceptively hard courses. Why are you taking those courses at A-Level?'

'I want to be an actress, Sir, and Oxford and Cambridge have great arts programmes–both visual and performing,' she said. Dumbledore smiled indulgently at her, and chuckled softly before replying.

'I'll tell you what,' he said. 'Once you are exposed to the wizarding world, you will be exposed to countless other career paths that you haven't even thought of before; for example, your friend Mr. Potter wants to become an Auror, which is something like the magical version of a cross between Scotland Yard and MI-6. I'll make you a deal, Ellie: promise me that you won't set your heart on any one career path until you've taken a look at magical options–and besides, there are also magical options and paths to do the same thing, after all, Muggles aren't the only ones who sometimes need a bit of entertainment–and I will try to work out a way so that you can study primarily at your Muggle school and sit your A-Levels, and still get up to scratch in your magical education. Does this sound like a fair deal?'

Ellie nodded her head vigorously, thanking Professor Dumbledore profusely, before everyone began to get up from their seats and Professor Dumbledore began to walk to the front door as they all chatted amiably and discussed how they would keep in touch, when a loud crack sounded in the middle of the sitting room, causing all but Albus to jump violently. When they looked towards the source of the noise, they saw a small, greenish-grey creature wearing mismatched socks and hats piled too high for his head, and a small, hand-woven toga around his midsection.

'Dobby! Is there a problem on Privet Drive?' Dumbledore asked, before giving a very brief aside to the astonished Watson family. 'Dobby is a House-Elf, and he works for me at Hogwarts,' he said, before turning back to Dobby. 'Dobby, is Harry in trouble?'

'Professor Dumbly-dore! Professor Dumbly-dore! Dobby has news! Dobby comes right away from Harry Potter Sir's house, just like Professor asked! Professor Dumbly-dore, you must come quick! We must apparated right away, sir!'

'Dobby! Dobby, calm down!' Professor Dumbledore said, kneeling so that he would be more on an eye-level with the diminutive elf. 'Dobby, what is the matter? Is Harry in trouble?' he asked again, this time slowly, and much more clearly; at this point the Watsons could tell that he was no longer in the mood for pleasant, neighbourly chit-chat, but had gone into full-on authoritative headmaster mode, if ever there was such a thing.

Professor Dumbles! Come quick! Harry Potter Sir and his Wheezy! They has Bonded sir!'

'Bonded, Dobby? You're sure?'

'Yes, Professor! They has Bonded! Dobby has seen the bonding magic! Harry Potter and his lady Wheezy has Bonded, sir! And the fat Dursleys has returned, and they is angry sir! Very angry indeed! You is needed, Professor Dumbly-dore! Harry Potter sir cannot use magic now until the bond has completed! Harry Potter sir and his Wheezy are in danger of fat, angry Dursleys until theys bonding is complete, sir! You must come quickly! Apparate, Professor, Sir!' Dobby cried, in a hurried, emotional rant that sounded, to the Watsons, almost too high-pitched to be real. A moment later, Dobby disappeared with another loud crack.

'I am going to Mr. Potter's house to investigate this,' Dumbledore told the Watsons. 'I will be there instantaneously, but I want the three of you to walk over there–slowly, keeping a low profile, just in case–in case we need to involve the Muggle authorities. Is that alright?' he asked, and Mr. Watson and Ellie readily agreed, with Mrs. Watson quickly following suit. 'His address is Number Four, Privet Drive,' Dumbledore said, and with that, Dumbledore disappeared with a loud POP, and the three Watsons left their house, to slowly walk towards Number Four, Privet Drive.


	6. In Defensor Sanguinis

'BOY! What is the meaning of this!?' Vernon bellowed.

Harry and Ginny immediately separated, their heads snapping up in unison towards the source of the sound: a very angry, and very purple, Vernon Dursley.

'Uncle Vernon! Back from Cornwall already?' Harry asked, in what he hoped was an innocent-sounding voice.

'As it turns out, our hotel room was never actually booked,' he said, his voice seething with barely repressed fury. 'But it's a ruddy good thing we didn't, boy, or else we would've never known what sort of filth is going on in our own home. Now answer the question, Boy, what the hell is going on here!?'

'Well, you see, Uncle Vernon, when two people love each other-' Harry began, still feeling somewhat cheeky, despite his uncle's very threatening demeanour.

'Harry, I don't think that's such a good idea…,' Ginny protested quietly, trying to avoid any unnecessary conflict. Her protestations fell on deaf ears, however, as Harry continued, still quite cheekily

'–They like to show each other,' he finished, smirking slightly.

Vernon Dursley's face immediately skipped three shades of colour, going straight to a very vibrant puce, the vein on his forehead protruding menacingly.

'What did you say, boy?' He asked in a deceptively quiet voice that was full of venom.

'I said-,' Harry began, but he never got to finish, as Vernon cut him off quite violently.

'I heard what you said, boy! It was a rhetorical question!' he said as he grabbed his nephew violently by the collar of his shirt. 'I think you need some time alone in your room to cool off,' he finished, his voice full of malice. As he said that, he dragged Harry off of the sofa and towards the closet under the stairs. Ginny trotted along beside them, angrily trying to prise Harry free of his uncle's grip, unsuccessfully.

'Let him go, you oaf! He didn't do anything wrong! You stupid, violent, Muggle…' she cried through her ministrations, though, not unsurprisingly, her cries fell on deaf ears.

'Shut up, you stupid girl! You'll get what's coming to you when I'm done with lover boy here!' Vernon yelled, his voice dripping with malice, as he shoved her violently away. Ginny stumbled backwards into the sofa, hard.

'Ginny!' Harry cried, angry at the pain his uncle was causing her. He struggled to free himself from his uncle's grasp and help Ginny, but, unfortunately, his uncle's grasp was steel-tight and he couldn't reach his wand, which was currently in his back pocket as it was oft to do. Ginny, however, got right back up and charged at the Dursley patriarch, wand drawn and eyes burning. She closed the distance of the few metres towards the Dursleys, squared her shoulders and shouted the now-familiar incantation that would send bogeys the size of Quaffles and in the shape of bats flying out of his nose to attack his face. Or, it should have, had the spell worked. For some reason, her incantation wouldn't work. She tried again, to the same result.  
'Harry, what's going on?!' she asked, her voice strangely high-pitched with worry.

'I don't…know…Ginny,' Harry choked out, hard-pressed as he was to speak due to his uncle's death grip on his collar.

Vernon laughed heartily at their frustration. 'Well, I see that freak of a Ministry finally cracked down you little freaks! You can't use that magic of yours outside your stupid freaks' school!' he crowed victoriously. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, your _boyfriend_ here needs some time too cool off,' he yelled, triumphantly, yanking open the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Ginny's gasp of horror at the under-sized camp bed, frayed bed-clothes, and cob-web infested space did not go unnoticed and he cackled in a way that would make Bellatrix Lestrange jealous. 'Say good-bye to your girlfriend, Potter! She won't be here when I let you out!' he yelled, throwing his nephew roughly into the cupboard, slamming the door closed, and locking all the latches so Harry was locked securely inside.

'HARRY!' Ginny cried, running to the door of the cupboard and trying, without success, to undo the locks and latches. Before she could get anywhere in unlocking the door, Vernon grabbed her, roughly, and threw her across the room with a loud crash.

'GINNY!' Harry yelled from inside the cupboard. He didn't know what exactly was going on, but he heard the unmistakable sound of her body being tossed aside like nothing.

'Hear that, Potter! Your stupid little slag isn't going to come and help you now!'

If Vernon Dursley had been paying attention while this was going on, he would have heard the unmistakable sound of his wife nervously calling out for him to stop. This, in and of itself was a strange enough occurrence, as he had long since beat any resistance out of her. But what happened next both shocked and angered him to the core.

'Vernon Dursley! What has gotten into you! They're just teenagers being teenagers!'

Vernon was so shocked by her outburst, it took him a moment to regain his composure.

'Just teenagers being teenagers?!' he asked, incredulous. 'They're doing…things…in my house! On my sofa…those two…freaks…' he sputtered angrily.

'Vernon,' she said softly but firmly, which in itself was out of character for her. But what she said next, was even more so. In the days to come, she would regard this as a turning point in her life, as the time she first really saw her nephew. She continued, 'They aren't doing anything we didn't do at their age.'

If Vernon's face could get any more of a purple colour, it would have at that moment.

'BUT WE AREN'T NO-GOOD FREAKS!' Vernon cried, fury evident in his voice, as he charged over to his wife, and sent his fist ploughing into her face, sending her flying into the kitchen table from her place of nervous observation in the doorway of the kitchen, knocking her nearly unconscious.

It was at this moment, when Ginny was just beginning to stir and rouse from her contact with Harry's oaf of an uncle, that something strange and remarkable happened, that would only be explained later, by the greatest wizard of the age. At that very moment two people in the room, Harry, locked in his cupboard prison, and his beleaguered aunt, nearly unconscious, were both seeing visions in their heads; memories locked away in their respective minds years and years ago.

_Harry saw a small baby, no more than fifteen months old, wrapped in a blue blanket on his doorstep, with a note attached to his blanket. He saw, seemingly from a third-person point of view, his aunt convincing his uncle to take the baby in. 'Fine,' his uncle had said. 'But he will not be treated better than our son'. He saw his aunt preparing the second bedroom in the house as a nursery, but his uncle taking it all down, and forcing her to turn that horrible cupboard under the stairs into the baby's nursery. In addition to seeing the images, Harry was even more surprised to find out he could feel the emotions attached to them. He could feel her shock and surprise, and destitute sadness his aunt felt when the baby, which Harry had figured out was him, arrived. He felt his aunt's sorrow, knowing that her estranged sister was actually dead, leaving her son an orphan._

He could feel her joy at having convinced Vernon to take the boy in; he could feel her anger, betrayal and despair at his insistence that she raise the boy so horribly, forcing her to turn the cupboard under the stairs into his 'room'. He saw more images, a few years later than the first. He recognised it instantly, though it was, again, from an all together different point of view. It was the first time he got sick. He saw his aunt begging and pleading with his uncle to let her take him to hospital… his fever was so high; dangerously high. He could feel her seething anger when he simply refused and laughed at the thought of finally 'being rid of Potter's mistake'. He saw, as well as felt, her grim determination when she snuck him out of the house and to hospital anyway when Vernon was at work, and her trepidation and nervousness when answering the doctors' questions as to why she waited so long to bring him in. He saw, as well as felt, her fear when his uncle Vernon found out. He saw, as well as felt, as he brutally beat her to what was clearly within an inch of her life…and yet, he got the feeling that that was only the most recent in a series of brutal beatings at the hand of Vernon Dursley.

He could see, as well as feel, her resignation at her decision to just go along with Vernon from then on. He could feel her fury, her anger, her pain and heartbreak time and time again, as her husband constantly mistreated and beat her nephew, as snippets from his life before Hogwarts flashed before his eyes at an alarmingly fast pace, until the most recent memory, what had just transpired, flashed before Harry's eyes, and he felt a new surge of anger. This one was different, however. He knew this was his own anger…not at his aunt, any longer. He had more or less forgiven her instantly after seeing what he could only deduce were her memories. No, this anger was white-hot and focused completely on one Vernon Dursley. His anger was so complete, so all-encompassing, that he didn't even realise what he was doing until it was too late. The air in the cupboard was white-hot, to match his anger, and before he could understand, let alone realise what was happening, the door to the cupboard exploded outward in thousands of tiny, flaming splinters, intermixed with a near-perfect ball of flame. It was lucky that Ginny was, for some reason, able to use magic once again, as she put up a shield just in time, so that she wasn't hit by any of the shrapnel or the fireball.

At the same time, Petunia Dursley, while still unconscious, was seeing similar 'visions' as her imprisoned nephew. Only, instead of her memories, they were those of Harry. She saw all the times she had treated him poorly, due to her cowardly desire to remain married, and to not be beaten. She saw all the times her husband had beaten and berated him, which were even more numerous than she had thought. She felt his loneliness and anger; she felt his despair, his complete, utter and desperate loneliness. But most of all, she felt his desire to be loved, above anything else.

Among all those images and emotions, she saw visions of his later memories: his first train ride on the Hogwarts express, the first time he met the Weasleys…the time he defeated Quirrell, and the Mirror of Erised… something with a flying car… Ginny Weasley and the Diary in the Chamber of Secrets… the images flashed faster and faster in her mind until the most recent, and heart-wrenching ones, appeared: Stepping in front of Ginny to protect her from curses in the Ministry of Magic, seeing Sirius fall through the veil… seeing him come back to visit Harry in his hour of need… and finally, something positive… the events of the past few hours that had led to Vernon finding them in the compromising position he had found them in earlier. She wasn't sure what, if anything, she could do to make his life better from now on, after all she had done to contribute to his misery, but she thought that hopefully… maybe… she would be able to at least try. She was shocked out of the stupor of her reverie by the sound of an explosion, and the first thing she saw as her eyes thrust themselves open, was a flash of light, and a fireball coming from the cupboard under the stairs as the door exploded off of its hinges into tiny little flaming pieces. 

* * * * * *

Little did any of them know that Professor Dumbledore, the Watsons, Arabella Figg, a disillusioned Nymphadora Tonks, and a large, black dog had witnessed everything that happened after Vernon had struck his wife. They had entered through the front door and stood, stock still, watching with shocked faces from the foyer, as the horror had unfolded. As Harry emerged from the rubble of the cupboard under the stairs, and ran to Ginny's side, they were still unable to move, the shock of what they had seen was so great. All those in the know had always assumed there were problems at Number Four, but none of them, not even Professor Dumbledore, had thought it was anything near as bad as the horror they had just witnessed.

'Ginny! Ginny, are you alright?' Harry cried, as he ran over to Ginny and knelt by her side.

'Yes, Harry, I'm fine,' she said, albeit slightly groggily, as she slowly rose from her slumped position near to the sofa. 'The question is, Love, are you alright? And how did you manage to blow the door off of that cupboard?'

'Yes, I'm fine,' Harry said tenderly. 'And I'm not sure how I managed it, but I did,' he said, casting a short, cursory glance towards his aunt, catching her eye, and giving her ever the slightest of nods. Once he was sure Ginny was safe and alright, he drew his wand and turned his attention on his gobsmacked uncle, his eyes hard with righteous fury.

'You, however, Vernon Dursley, I'm afraid, will not be for very much longer,' he said, levelling his wand at the horrid creature before him. His voice was laced with so much hatred and venom, he surprised even himself. He had so much hatred for the man before him, on par with a level he thought was reserved only for Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort himself; not even the elder Malfoy had earned so much hatred in Harry's eyes.

Before even he knew what he was doing, he had levelled his wand at his uncle and had him magically bound. Instead of the ropes that usually accompanied every other magical binding spell he had ever performed, this time his uncle was bound in magically reinforced Muggle-style handcuffs around both his wrists and his ankles. Harry's eyes were still burning with white-hot fury, however, as he levelled his wand at the man and slowly, and deliberately made his way to stand over his bound uncle, his voice dangerously low and full of anger.

'I am not normally a violent person, Uncle Vernon,' he said, his wand trained squarely on his uncle, 'but given what I now know about you, I think that I can now safely make an exception for you,' he continued, pointing his wand squarely at the man's chest. 'Sectumsemp–' Harry cried out before he was cut off by Professor Dumbledore, who had finally been spurred into action.

'Harry, STOP!' the professor yelled, trying to get in between Harry and his uncle.

'I'm sorry, Professor, but given recent revelations, and the fact of just how much you've lied and kept things from me in the past, I don't think you're in any position to tell me what to do. This is between me and _him_,' Harry said, filling the last word with so much venom that it was as if the word itself was the vilest curse in the world, and it was physically distasteful in his mouth. He turned back to finish what he had started, but he was never able to finish, because Ginny stood in between him and his uncle.

'Harry.' That single world held so much emotion in her voice that he couldn't bear to ignore it. Still, he refused to lower his wand.

'Harry,' she said again, her voice thick with pain and emotion. He tried valiantly to avoid looking at her, but she wouldn't have any of it. She gently lifted his chin so that his eyes were looking directly into hers. Her brown eyes were so full with emotion, pain, love, compassion, all for him, and he knew it. They were deep wells of emotion boring into his soul, and he knew he couldn't resist her for much longer. He knew, then and there, that for the rest of their lives, he would never be able to resist if she really wanted something from him. One look into those deep brown eyes of hers, flaked with gold around the edges as they were, and he knew he would give her whatever her heart desired. He knew he could never refuse her anything anymore. They stood there, simply staring into each other's eyes, brown boring into emerald, for a long time, before Ginny sensed it would be safe for her to show some more initiative, and she slowly, gently, lovingly placed her hand gently on his wand-arm hand, slowly and gently pushing his raised wand down towards the ground.

'Please, Harry,' she said, her voice thick with emotion. 'I know how horrible he must be to you, and I can only imagine how hard what I'm asking you do is, but please, Harry, don't do this. This isn't you. You're not a killer, Harry. You're a gentle, sweet, kind, loving man, whom I love dearly. Don't do this–this is something he'd do, not something you would do. Please, Harry? For me? Lower your wand, Harry.'

It worked. Slowly, and deliberately, as if the very act of lowering his wand physically hurt him, he lowered his wand and allowed her to lead him away from his uncle, onto the sofa, where they sat in each other's embrace.

'Thank you, Harry,' Professor Dumbledore said to him, unaware that Ginny had just whispered that much and more to him just a moment before. 'I assure you, Harry, I will personally see to it that he is brought to justice. You have my word,' the Professor added, emphatically.

At that moment, there was a loud series of knocks on the door, followed by a booming male voice calling 'This is the police. Open the door!'

Immediately, Professor Dumbledore emphatically hissed, 'Wands away!' which they all did, as Tonks reappeared from her disillusionment spell, dressed at the moment as a Muggle police inspector. At that moment there was a wordless agreement that they would all follow Professor Dumbledore and Tonks's lead, as Dr. Watson, who was closest to the front door, opened it and allowed the police officers to enter.

'Hello…,' the Professor said, surveying the damage. He didn't notice that the door to the cupboard was at one point in flames, as Tonks had quickly repaired it enough to the point that it looked like it had merely been violently kicked down, without the officers knowing. 'My name is Inspector McPherson, and this is Officer Johnston,' he said, pointing to his rather portly partner. 'We received a 999 call about a possible domestic disturbance at this residence…,' he said, his eyes finally coming to rest on the bound–no, handcuffed–Vernon Dursley.

'Yes, that was me,' Dr. Watson said.

'Care to expand on that, Mr…?' the portly Officer Johnston asked.

'Doctor. Doctor John Watson,' he said, correcting the officer before he continued. 'Yes. That gentleman there, in the handcuffs, is a violent, abusive man, and should be locked away,' he began without preamble. He told him a very much true, if altered to erase any traces of magic, story of his account of what had happened, with much help and chiming in from the others, save Harry and Ginny, who had remained silent and seemingly uninterested the entire time.

'Right, so let me make sure I've got this right,' said Inspector McPherson, as he finished taking notes from the story. 'You lot,' he said, pointing to Dumbledore, Mrs. Figg, and the Watsons, 'were coming over for tea, and the door was open, so you let yourselves in. When you entered the house, you heard yelling and went to see what was the matter. You then saw the man in question throw his nephew into a cupboard beneath the stairs, accost and rough-up the boy's girlfriend,' this statement was greeted with a slight smirk and twinkle in the eye of Professor Dumbledore, though it went unnoticed by everyone else, 'and then beat his wife to the point of near unconsciousness. At which point, the boy kicked his way out of the door, and flung himself at his uncle. His girlfriend and you, Professor,' he said, looking pointedly at Professor Dumbledore, 'then pulled him off of his uncle and restrained the man, until you,' he said, looking at Tonks, 'arrived. Am I correct so far?'

Tonks spoke first in the affirmative.

'That is correct Inspector.'

'Right. And who the bloody hell _are_ you? I wasn't aware we had the Canine Unit deployed anywhere near here… and come to think of it, you don't look familiar at all,' he said, slightly suspicious, looking squarely at Tonks, and Sirius as Padfoot.

'I am Inspector Tonks, Canine Unit, Scotland Yard,' she said, playing along with his suspicions. 'We've actually been observing Mr. Dursley here for a long time, but we've never had any concrete evidence as to what was going on in this house until now. Small miracles, that,' she said.

'Right, lucky that, is right,' Inspector McPherson said. 'Well, you and I will need to speak privately later, and go over the proper paperwork,' he said, scratching Padfoot lightly behind the ears.

'Of course,' Tonks agreed amiably.

'So, at that point, you two burst into the room and subdued and restrained the suspect, and had the witnesses call 999, and that brings us up to now, am I correct?' Tonks simply nodded the affirmative.

'Right. Why did you have them dial 999, and not just called for your own backup?' he asked.

'Well, Inspector, we're based in London. You're based here in Little Whinging. It would have taken far too long for our boys to get out here, and to be honest, this is still your jurisdiction, so I figured I'd rather have you boys take care of it than have to play inter-service politics from London,' she said with a smirk, and McPherson's apparently hard demeanour twitched into something resembling a smile. 'Right, then. Well, you lot did well. We'll take him from here,' he said, as Johnston and he hefted Vernon to his feet.

'Inspector,' Petunia said, for the first time opening her mouth since her husband had hit her.

'Yes, Ma'am?'

'What is going to happen to my husband?'

'Well, he's going to spend a few nights in jail, to let him cool off. Then, if he posts bond –in other words, if we feel he is able to be a good little lad before his court date– he will be released back to this residence, and then he will have a court date, and from there, it is up to His Honourable Judge as to what happens to him from there.'

Petunia pursed her lips tightly together and just nodded stiffly to the officers as they went back to work.

Inspector McPherson quickly kneeled down to Padfoot, scratched him once more behind the ears, pulled a dog treat from one of the pockets on his belt, and began to forcefully shuffle Vernon Dursley outside into the waiting squad car, and Tonks and Padfoot followed. Once Dursley was safely in the car, and at Tonks's questioning look, McPherson simply said, 'I used to be in the canine unit myself. Come on now, we've got a lot of paperwork to finish. You'd better call London and let them know you're going to be with us for a while,' he said, as they all piled into the squad car and drove off to the station.

'Right. Well, that was close,' Ellie said, as soon as the door to Number Four was closed.

'Right you are, Miss Watson,' Dumbledore couldn't help but agree. 'Arabella, would be a dear and take the Watsons to yours for some tea? I have some things I would like to discuss with Harry and Ginny'.

'Certainly, Albus,' she said, ushering the three Watsons out the door and down the street to hers for tea.

* * * * * * * *

Harry and Ginny still were not paying much attention to their surroundings, so wrapped up were they in comforting each other on the sofa, that they hardly noticed that it was just them and Professor Dumbledore. He softly cleared his throat to get their attention.

Both teenagers' heads shot straight up, shocked out of their private moment, and sheepishly looked at Professor Dumbledore.

'Oh, Professor, you're still here,' Harry said.

'That I am, my dear boy, that I am.'

'Professor, I'm…ah…I'm very sorry, for my little outburst, earlier,' Harry said lamely.

'Oh not at all, not at all, dear boy. There is nothing to apologise for. I fear that I would have acted in precisely the same manner, were our roles reversed. In fact, I have many times already, in my exceedingly numerous years of life,' he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. This alone got both the teenagers to raise their eyebrows in surprise so far up their foreheads that they disappeared into their hairlines. However, that was not to be the most shocking thing revealed in this conversation that the teenagers and the Professor were having.

'Oh, um, okay then, Professor,' Ginny said. 'Is there something you need?' she asked, not wanting to sound rude, but wanting very much to once again lose herself in their embrace as they had been doing when they were oblivious to the Professor's presence.

'Actually, my dear, there is. There is something of great importance that I need to discuss with you both,' he said. Both Harry and Ginny looked up and waited with near-bated breath for him to continue. If Professor Dumbledore said it was important, then of course they would give him their full attention.

'Well, you see, this is not going to be easy for me to discuss with you as it is… rather delicate,' he began.

'Is it about Voldemort, Professor? Has someone died?' Harry asked, a feeling of dread already sinking into his soul.

'Oh, good heavens, no, my dear boy!' Dumbledore cried jollily. 'I am pleased to tell you that this conversation, while serious in nature, is about something much less depressing,' he said, before continuing. 'Dobby has brought it to my attention that you two have finally gotten together today, is that correct?' Both children blushed bright crimson, but nodded fervently, both smiling from ear to ear. 'That is excellent news!' he cried. 'Don't tell anyone, because it is not so becoming of an old professor to take such an active interest in the love lives of his favourite pupils… especially since he is not supposed to have any…,' he added conspiratorially, '…but I have been hoping to see you two together for quite a long time. You two are perfect for one another, I have always thought, and obviously you both agree, otherwise it wouldn't have happened…' he said, trailing off slightly.

'Professor?' Ginny asked, slightly confused as to what he was getting at.

'Are either of you familiar with the term 'soul mate'?' Professor Dumbledore asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

'That's a Muggle term, isn't it professor? I remember reading once in Primary school something like 'a soul mate is a soul's recognition of itself in another' or something like that, right? Why?'

'Well, you're partially correct, Harry. That is a rather succinct definition. However, it is not, in fact, a Muggle term. At least, not originally. In fact, the term soul mate was originally used by witches and wizards to describe their spouses. Or, what we now call spouses. You see, before we had Wizarding marriages and marriage spells and the like, we had soul bondings. Most of them were what we call natural magic, as it occurred naturally, without any form of spellcasting or incantations. Later, when people found it harder and harder to find their soulmates naturally, and it became harder and harder for it to happen naturally, then a soul-bonding ceremony and spell was developed. This was the precursor to our modern marriage ceremony and spells, and is the primary reason why magical marriages cannot be undone, ever. Because a soul bonding cannot be undone. Once two people are bonded, they are bonded forever, body, mind, spirit, magic and soul. They are, as the cliché line from the wedding ceremony goes, two souls becoming one,' he said, smiling broadly.

'Ok, Professor, thanks for the history lesson, but why are you telling us this?' Ginny asked, though the intonation in her voice belied her suspicions as to what he may tell them next.

'Are you getting married professor?' Harry asked. 'Oh, no, wait…are you 'bonded' with someone, Professor? Is it McGonagall?' Harry asked, and Ginny smacked his arm playfully as they laughed. Professor Dumbledore chuckled along with them before he spoke again.

'No, Harry. I'm afraid that for me, that ship has long since sailed. I am a very, very old man, and unfortunately, I have never had the joy to share in that sort of love with anyone,' he said, pausing briefly before he continued. 'And while Professor McGonagall is a fine woman, she and I will never be anything more than very good friends. And besides,' he said, 'no one now alive knows how to perform the bonding ceremony anyway,' he said, that damnable twinkle still in his eyes alight behind his half-moon spectacles. 'In fact, the last people to have been known to have been bonded were Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, Harry. And that was over six-hundred years ago now,' he said, before continuing. 'And before the Flamels, well, the last recorded person of having been bonded was Merlin himself, and that was a natural bond, not a spell-bonding,' he said, smiling broadly.

'Okay…,' Harry said, finally growing tired of the run-around. 'So, why did you bring all this up, then?' he asked, not noticing that Ginny was already beginning to put two and two together and was smiling very broadly.

'Harry,' Professor Dumbledore said breathing heavily before dropping what Harry and Ginny would later refer to as the greatest bombshell of their lives up to that point. 'You and Ginny are soul-bonded. I have no idea how it happened –well, I have some ideas, and I know it wouldn't have happened if either of you were in doubt of your feelings for each other in any way– but in terms of the actuality of how exactly it happened, well, I'm still as clueless as you are.'

'Wait, we're…' Harry asked, his eyes bugging out of his head, as Ginny finished the sentence, almost as if Gred and Forge were doing the talking, '…bonded?' The professor could only nod profusely and beam.

'How can you be sure?' Ginny asked, nearly breathless.

'I sent Dobby to check on both of you earlier today, to make sure you were okay and didn't need anything. Obviously, his presence was not needed,' he said, chuckling, 'but he saw it. And I don't know why, but House Elf magic is particularly strong in that regard, and in terms of all familial bonds… after all, they have to be in order to know whom they must take orders from and such. But trust me on this, House Elf magic is never wrong about this sort of thing. You two are soul-bonded. What I have been wondering about this, though,' he said, more to himself than the teenagers he was talking to, 'How it took so fast. In all the research I've done on the subject, it should've taken at least quite a few hours, if not days, or even weeks, to completely take. But for the two of you, you are already completely bonded, as evidenced by the ability of both of you to once again use magic,' he said thoughtfully. 'Even Nicolas and Perenelle took a few hours to complete their bond…or so I'm told.'

'So… wait… me and Harry… we're… we're…soul bonded?' Ginny asked, her voice seemingly mixed equal parts incredulous and deliriously happy.

'Yes,' Professor Dumbledore replied simply.

'What does that mean?' Harry asked. It was a good question, because he had no clue, and Ginny only had a vague idea, and she figured most of it was wrong since it came out of, embarrassed as she was to admit it (which she never did) things like Witch Weekly and her witch romance books, that were her dirty pleasure that she never openly admitted to reading, but that her brothers had occasionally found lying around the house, and had taken to calling them 'dirty witch books'. They were right, of course, as they were. But that didn't change Ginny's opinion about them at all. She and Harry both looked aptly at the Professor as he explained.

'Well, for starters, you are both considered of the age of legal majority, and that means, of course, you can do magic out of school,' he said, pausing for them to celebrate as he thought they would, and normally they would have, but they were too shocked at what they had been told over the past few minutes to do anything but stare raptly at him, waiting for more. 'It also means that…well, it means that the two of you are legally married.' Ginny's face broke into a grin a mile wide, and Harry's did too, for a split second, until that sunk in, at which point his face registered nothing but shock and fear.

'M-m-m-married? Me? And Ginny? You're sure?'

'Positive, Harry. Why do you ask?'

'Well, it's just…it's just…' he stuttered, spluttering, and the fact that Ginny's face was no longer one of pure joy, but slowly moving towards anger, was not lost on him. 'I mean, I love Ginny, of course I do. I wouldn't have told her I did if I didn't,' he said, which seemed to placate her, but only just. 'It's just that, we're both so young… and there's a war coming, and I had sort of planned on waiting until after the war to take that step and… and… I mean, what if I'm rubbish at it? What if I'm not good at being married? What if I'm not a good husband? Ginny deserves the best, and what if I'm not…' he said, now so thoroughly worked into his mood that he rambled on a mile a minute, and Dumbledore and Ginny both struggled to keep up. He only stopped his rambling when Ginny placed her lithe hand lightly in his and squeezed lightly, allowing him to focus on something else, as Professor Dumbledore put a calming hand on Harry's shoulder.

'Harry, it's already done and sealed anyway, so there's nothing we could do, even if we wanted to, which I'm sure you really don't. You're just scared, but I'm told everyone gets that way. Well, everyone except the girl who finally gets to marry the man she's been in love with since she was twelve years old,' he said, winking at Ginny. 'If we tried to break the bond now, you'd both die. And no one wants that. Harry, I'm sure you will be an amazing husband. And more importantly besides, you said that Ginny deserves the best, right?' Harry nodded absently.

'Well, both your heart and soul and hers seem to agree that the best person for her is you, and the best person for you is her. You bonded naturally. The bonding never would have occurred in the first place, never mind taken so quickly, if you weren't meant to be bonded. You two are each other's soul-mates, Harry, and whatever fears you may have rest assured that nothing bad will happen. You two are going to live long, happy, healthy lives together. Of that I am sure. Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Potter,' he said, with a jovial wink and a conspirational twinkle in his eye.

'Mr and…'

'Mrs Potter…' they said, together, their voices not quite as strong as usual, before both of them began sporting grins so broad that they threatened to break their faces in two. Harry planted a quick and tender kiss on his wife's lips, and Albus smiled. Yes, they were definitely in love, there was no doubt about that. He was happy for the young couple, that was for certain, but he needed to finish what he was telling them before anything else happened.

'Now, there are a few more things you need to know about your bonding,' he said, his smile nearly as broad as theirs. 'First of all, you will need to…consummate…your marriage tonight. Your bonding has taken completely except for that bit, and it is the most important part. But I trust that won't be a problem with two so obviously in love as you are. The next important bit of information is that you are now, effectively one life. Neither of you will die, either from illness or injury without the other. When you do depart this life, you will do so together,' he said, smiling. Harry wasn't sure why, but that thought comforted him more than anything he had yet heard.

'Now, there are some other things you should know. Some people might consider what I am going to tell you a disadvantage, though, I'm sure those people are probably just as surly as our dear Professor Snape, who would, I'm sure, tell you that he is a civilised human being who is able to control his 'baser animalistic instincts'. You must both be physically intimate with each other at least once a week, though, with two so obviously in love as yourselves, I doubt that this will be a problem.

'Again, I doubt this will be a problem with the two of you. Especially since, according to all I've read on the topic, as the two of you grow and your bond strengthens over time, just like your marriage undoubtedly will, I doubt there will be a time when you won't want to be close and as physically intimate as possible, as often as possible,' he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 'Well, if either of the two of you don't have any questions on that front,' he asked, and they shook their heads no, he continued, 'well, then, it is time we discussed the ramifications of this on your education.'

'As you both undoubtedly know from your History of Magic classes, there have not been any married, let alone bonded, students at Hogwarts for over 600 years. Now, that isn't to say there can't be, but there hasn't been. And unfortunately, the Board of Governors can be a bit stubborn about tradition, so it may take a while until I can convince them otherwise. That is why I think it would be best for everyone if you were not to return to Hogwarts in September.' The newlyweds eyes bugged out of both of their heads, and they protested vehemently.

'WHAT?!'

'NO! How will we learn magic if we can't go to Hogwarts!?"

Professor Dumbledore raised his hands up for silence in what he thought was a placating manner, before continuing. 'Now, now, I don't mean that I don't want you coming back at all. I simply meant that I think rather than having to fight the board every step of the way, you not come back in September, but wait for me to get the board to acquiesce to the realities of the situation and let you return willingly as the first married students in, well, quite a long time.'

Harry and Ginny looked at each other for a long moment, and it was if they were having a silent conversation. All at once, though, they both understood each other perfectly, and were in agreement as to what they were going to do. Harry finally spoke.

'Okay, Professor. That seems reasonable. But what are we going to do in the meantime? And how long do you reckon it will take until we can come back?'

'I don't believe it will be any longer than Christmastime, at the latest, Harry. And what you do until then is up to you, you are both now adults, as far as I and the Ministry are concerned. However, I would have a recommendation. I would recommend you stay in England somewhere, amongst the Muggles. Start your lives together. Learn what it is like to have a place of your own to come home to. That sort of thing. In addition, I would recommend that, in order to keep your minds sharp and yourselves occupied, you enrol in a local Muggle sixth-form, and we can arrange for you both to have private tutors in your subjects at Hogwarts in the evenings and such, that way you won't fall too far behind…,' Professor Dumbledore recommended.

'We're not staying here, Professor. Not in a million years.'

'Of course not, Harry; I would never recommend that,' Professor Dumbledore said. 'In fact, I highly doubt that, once your uncle goes to trial, that your aunt and cousin will be here either. No, no, I had a much more…friendly arrangement in mind. It's your decision, of course, but I think you might like the agreement I propose. I propose that you, Ginny, and Ellie move in with Sirius. I'm sure Sirius will be thrilled to have you, and Ellie needs to be around more witches and wizards her own age, and you can help teach her about the magical world and some rudimentary magic.

In the meantime, she will help re-expose you, Harry, and teach you, Ginny, all about London and the Muggle world. I could enrol you both in her sixth form college (and her parents could re-enrol her there, I'm sure). That way, you'd all be happy, and have company, and such, while at the same time, you'd all still be in school and learning and not just floundering about, without anything particular to do. Also, you wouldn't have to stay here, or at the Burrow, which I'm sure you'd both appreciate.'

At the mention of the Burrow, Ginny gulped audibly, suddenly very worried about what her parents and brothers would say. This must have shown on her face, because Harry squeezed her hand gently, reassuring her, and Professor Dumbledore spoke.

'Don't worry, Miss We–Er, I mean, Mrs Potter-,' he said, chuckling, and Ginny could feel her insides warm at the sound of her new name, 'I'm sure your family will be happy and proud for you, once they get over the initial shock.' She nodded her agreement at that statement, and Ginny spoke up for the first time in quite a few minutes.

'I think that plan sounds good, Professor. Are you sure it's okay with everyone else?'

'I think that it shouldn't be a problem, my dear. Don't worry about anything, I'll make sure all the arrangements are made and that all those involved are agreeable. Don't worry about that. Now, I'd best be off to give the Weasleys the good news,' he said, smiling and getting up from where he was sitting to make his way to Arabella's where he would Floo to the Burrow.

'Wait! Professor Dumbledore, d'you think that maybe, you can maybe… not tell my family… at least not yet?' Ginny asked quietly.

Professor Dumbledore sighed and said to her softly and calmly, 'I don't think that would be wise, Mrs Potter. You see, at this very moment, I'm sure that the Ministry is updating their files on both of you, and soon enough your family will get an owl, congratulating them on your marriage. Now I'm sure they will be shocked at that, don't you think? Maybe even think it is some kind of trick?' he asked, in a voice not unlike the one he used all those many years ago when he taught classes. Ginny nodded mutely in the affirmative.

'Therefore, I believe it would probably be best if they were informed in person, Ginny. May I call you Ginny?' she again nodded yes. 'Don't worry, I will go to the Burrow and be the bearer of the shocking –yet extremely good– news, you two won't have to worry about doing that. And I'm sure they'll be shocked, and perhaps even angry for a little while, but your family loves you both very, very much, I know that for a fact. And I'm sure that sooner, rather than later, they'll be drunk with happiness,' he said, smiling reassuringly to the young couple, before deciding to simply Apparate to the Burrow, which he did with a soft pop.


	7. What a Tangled Web We Weave

The room was dark. His Lord preferred it that way, and so it was. He was in a large, stone room at the end of a long, stone corridor. The room was ancient, and so appeared to be held up by a series of even more ancient stone columns that ran along the edge of the walls. On each of these columns was a single torch, twelve in all, and these provided the only source of light in the large stone room. In the centre of the large room, his Lord sat in a large, throne-like chair, made of dark mahogany wood and gold filigree inlay, his face obscured by his black cloak. Oh, how his Lord did love theatrics. Without warning his Lord rose from his chair, his wand in his hand, but hanging limply at his side, as he paced in front of his chair.

'You're certain? You're certain of this, Severus?'

'Of course, My Lord. The mutt is dead, as you are aware-,'

'Of course, I'm aware, Severus! Don't waste my time with things which I already know!'

'My apologies, My Lord, please forgive me,' he said, having been properly chastised. 'As I was saying, My Lord, is that with the mutt dead, the boy is most assuredly in a state of mental anguish–separated from friends and imprisoned by his supposed relations, away from all news of our world. It would be the perfect time to strike, My Lord'

'You are certain of this, Severus? You are certain of the boy's situation?' his Lord asked, excitably.

'I am, My Lord. Even before he left school, the boy was retreating into himself, alienating his friends even before they left. Dumbledore ensures he always returns to his Muggle Aunt and Uncle's home in Surrey at the beginning of summer–at least for a few weeks–before he leaves to spend the rest of the summer with the blood traitor Weasleys. Dumbledore never checks in on him with during his stay there, instead relying on the Muggles to ensure his safety,' Severus replied, barely hiding the smirk from his Master.

'My Lord, if I may be so bold,' he continued. 'This may be your time to strike. If you can capture the boy, you could draw the Order of the Phoenix into open combat. And then, once they are…taken care of…then the boy will be yours to do with as you wish,' he concluded, bowing his head slightly in respect.

'Yes…yes, Severus…you may be correct. Dumbledore really leaves the boy with Muggles, completely unwatched and unprotected?'

'Yes, My Lord. He places all his faith in so-called Blood Protections that Petunia–the Aunt–supposedly has, because her sister died for the boy, and he relies solely on that for his protection.' He said, fighting to keep his voice level and indifferent at the mention of Lily Potter. However, he was a master at Occlumency, as well as in keeping his emotions in check, so he knew that he gave nothing away to his Master that was not already known.

'Yes. Yes, Severus, I like this. This could well be our opportunity,' his Master said, once again sitting in his chair, and stroking his non-existant beard. 'Leave me. I have much work to do.' Severus simply nodded his ascent at this most recent command, and left. He, too, had much thinking to do. He had much thinking to do on the consequences of what he had just done. He just hoped his plan worked.

* * * * * * * *

Javit Singh was an old man by any stretch of the imagination. He had lived through both muggle wars, as well as having fought with Albus Dumbledore against Grindelwald, as well as against Voldemort as a member of the Order of the Pheonix in the first wizarding war. He was still somewhat active in the Order now, well, as active as a man as advanced in age as he was could. That in and of itself wasn't that unusual, but the fact that he had yet to retire from his job at the ministry was, according to some, a tad unusual. But he was a man of habit, and he had kept the same routine for nearly a century; he woke up, ate his breakfast at precisely a quarter to eight every morning, and by eight-thirty every morning was in his office at the Department of Magical Contracts, Births and Marriages in the Ministry, and he wasn't about to stop now, just because some young bucks in the Ministry wanted him to retire to make way for some young kid, of whom he was old enough to be their great-grand-dad, thank you very much. His work may not be glamourous or in 'the thick of it' as they said, but it was, nonetheless very important, and he enjoyed it all the same. It was easy, and he often didn't have terribly much work to do on a day-to-day basis, and this let him keep up with his reading, and his work with the Order of the Phoenix. Today, like everyday, he returned to his office from his lunch break at a quarter after one, and, seeing no pressing work that had to be taken care of immediately, set back to reading his book.

A few moments later, he was disturbed from his reading by a loud buzzing–almost rattling–sound coming from the shelves behind him, where some of the more recent, and thick, record volumes were kept. He immediately got up, with a spryness that belied his age, and retrieved the rattling tome, and noticed that towards the back of the large, leather-bound tome, there was a faint glowing. He knew, of course, what that glowing meant; something on that page–one of the countless records held within the book–was updating itself. Dutifully, he opened the record-book, so that he could copy down the change, and fill out the appropriate paperwork, when his eyes went wide.

There, on the page in front of him, was something that, by no stretch of his imagination had he expected to see when opened the record book. He also immediately knew that he would have to contact Albus immediately–and he would probably have to do a fair bit of record-hiding, just like he did during the first war. The page read:

_On this Twelfth day of June, in the Year of our Lord 1996, let it be known that Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley are hereby to be considered in all ways, wed in universal matrimony by the right of the Most Ancient and Mysterious rite of Natural Soul Bonding. Be it known that now, henceforth, and for the rest of their days in the future that they are afforded all the rights, responsibilities and benefits bequeathed to married couples, including, but not limited to, status of legal adulthood and the age of majority, regardless of actual age and all rights thereof, including voting and representation in the Wizengamot, as well as complete freedom of choice in their own endevours financially, educationally, physically and in any other matters, without the necessity for a parent or guardian. May their marriage be blessed with health, wealth, happiness and prosperity from now until the end of their days._

Below that was a small, miniature sized family tree with the Potter Family Crest at the very centre. On the bottom of the tree, a new branch was being added of its own accord, on it was written in a fancy, flowing script: 'Harry James Potter'. Next to that, was the unmistakable double-knotted line, that represented marriage in geneology and heraldry, connecting to another name, that said, in the same flowing script 'Ginevra Molly (neé Weasley) Potter'.

Javit, in the meantime, made the three requisite copies for such a document: one for the groom's family (or, in his case, the groom himself), one for the bride's family, and one for the Ministry's records. He then cast a light confundus, as well as an invisibility charm on the page in question, sent the two family records off with the appropriate owls, rolled up the official Ministry copy, tucked it into his robes, cast his monkey patronus, and called, in a strong, clear voice 'Albus!'

* * * * * * * *

As soon as all the hubbub at Number Four was under control, and he had talked briefly with Harry and Ginny, Albus Dumbledore Apparated straightaway to his office in the Ministry of Magic. He knew that the Ministry would be a better base of operations for the rest of the work he would be doing today–due to recent turns of events–much better than Hogwarts would be. He knew that the Ministry records would be updating themselves at some point, and that Molly would not be happy when she received the congratulatory owl. Likewise, he knew that while Arthur would be less than pleased, he would be more apt to see reason and see that this was, in actuality, a happy occasion. As long as he could get to Arthur before Molly got the owl, he knew, he had a chance to smooth all this over rather well. Now, all he needed to do was to–what was the muggle term? Ah, yes–run a bit of interference for the young couple. All these thoughts were racing through his head as he strode purposely through the corridors to Arthur Weasley's fourth-floor office.

He entered Arthur's small office without much ado and abruptly sat down and sealed and warded the door.

'Albus! Hello! To what do I owe the pleasure?' Arthur asked jovially.

'Well, my dear friend, I'm happy to report that I have some news'  
'Good news or bad?' Arthur asked, putting down the report on his desk and giving Dumbledore his full attention.

'Good news, I believe, Arthur. Very, very good news. Two bits of good news, actually.' He said.

'Oh?'

'Yes,' Dumbledore said, dropping his voice and leaning in conspiratorially, his eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles. 'You'll be happy to hear that our four-legged canine friend has found his way home,' he began.

'That's wonderful, Albus. I was beginning to think that we'd have to get the children a new dog,' Arthur commented excitedly, easily reacting in the same code Albus was using. You didn't know who was listening into your conversations anymore, especially at the Ministry. 'You said you had other news?'

'Yes, my friend I did. I have some very good news, about Harry,' he said.

'Oh? Can he finally leave those dreadful people and come back to his family?'

Albus chuckled at Arthur's ironic word choice.

'Arthur, what would you say if I told you that Harry really could be a part of your family, legally?'

'I'd be rather confused, to be honest, Albus. He's too old to adopt, and I doubt he'd want that anyway, besides. He may as well be a Weasley, to us, but he is still a Potter, after all, and I think he'd like to keep it that way. The only other way would be if he and Ginny…,' he said, trailing off, before he paused in thought, however briefly. He continued, 'Albus, are telling me that Harry and Ginny….'

'Well, Arthur, as you well know, Ginny went over to Number Four today to spend some time with Harry, today….'

'Yes, I was aware of that, Albus. Are you telling me that my daughter and Harry are somehow….'

'In a way, Arthur, in a way.'

'Albus, what, exactly, do you mean?'

'Well, my old friend, it would appear that Harry and Ginny have become soul-bonded.'

'Soul-bonded?' Arthur nearly hissed out. 'How could they be soul-bonded? The level of skill required to perform the ceremony…there's no one left alive in Britain who even knows how to perform it,' he said, incredulous, 'and besides, they're both under-age. They wouldn't have been able to perform the magic necessary to do it,' he said, confused.

'Ah, you see, Arthur, that is the truly marvelous part!' Dumbledore said, his eyes alight with joy and mischief. 'It was a natural bond, Arthur'

'A natural bond? Are you sure?'

'I am indeed positive, Arthur. I was informed of the bonding by a very excitable young House-Elf called Dobby, and checked in on his claim immediately. It is, in fact, true. You know what this means, right, Arthur?'

'I…I have an idea…' Arthur stammered. 'It means that they're married, right?'

Albus nodded the affirmative. 'That is correct, my old friend. It also means that they are both now considered legally adults. The fact that this is a natural bond also means that they didn't plan this; they may not have realised, consciously, how deep their love for each other is, but their subconscious souls have. The bond wouldn't have even begun, let alone taken, if either of them had any doubts as to their feelings for each other or if they weren't, in the truest sense of the word, soul mates. They were meant to be together, Arthur, and now they are,' Albus said softly.

They just sat there for a few moments, wrapped in companionable silence; Dumbledore was smiling gently at Arthur, who seemed rather shell-shocked and just sat there, staring into space for quite a few moments. After the silence had gone on just a few moments too long, Albus spoke again, this time very softly,

'Are you alright, Arthur?'

His voice seemed to stir the elder Weasley out of his own thoughts.

'Huh? Oh, yes, sorry Albus,' he began. 'Yes, I think I am. I mean, I love Harry like he were my own son and there is no one else I would rather see my daughter with. Granted, I would have preferred this to happen a few years in the future, but its not like I have a choice in the matter, least of all now,' he said, smiling wanly and chuckling.

'Its just, I can't believe my little girl is a married woman. I'm not sure that I'm ready to give her up,' he said. 'Though,' he continued, 'As long as she's happy, Albus, I'm happy. And I know that she and Harry will be happy together, so I…well, it may take a while to adjust to, yes, I think I can honestly say that I am very, very happy for them.'

'I'm glad to hear that, Arthur. I'm sure Harry and Ginny will be, too.' Arthur nodded in recognition.

'Her mother, on the other hand, may be another story,' Arthur said, seriously.

'Of that, I am sure, Arthur. Of that I am sure. That is why I need your help. I need you to make sure that Molly doesn't do anything rash, especially not today. They need to…erm, seal…their bond, if you will,' Dumbledore said, and Arthur made a very uncomfortable looking face. He didn't need to know about that. 'In addition, they've both had a very stressful day, for reasons unrelated to this happy occasion,' Albus continued.

'What's wrong? Are they okay?' Arthur asked, visibly concerned, now, for his daughter, and his new son-in-law.

'Oh yes, yes, Arthur, they are quite okay now. I have dealt with the problem,' Dumbledore said. Upon seeing Arthur's face, however, he knew that such a simple teacherly brush-off wasn't going to satiate Arthur Weasley. Sighing, Dumbledore continued, 'I had arranged for Harry's relations to be out of the house today for Ginny's visit, so that Harry and Ginny could have some fun without worrying about his Aunt and Uncle. Unfortunately, it turns out, my plan failed as they didn't, in fact, stay out anywhere near as long as they were supposed to.

Just after the bonding, apparently young Harry and Ginny were on the sofa…what's the term the kids are using these days? Snogging?...yes, that's it. They were snogging when Vernon Dursley walked in on them. Let's just say that he was not well pleased. Ginny was fine, if a bit shaken at his behaviour, but Harry didn't fare quite as well. His uncle decided to take his anger out on his nephew and by the time I got there, he was locked in a cupboard under the stairs while Vernon beat his wife,' Dumbledore said, mournfully, shaking his head in disappointment. 'I took care of it, of course, but that is one of the reasons why Molly mustn't bother them tonight…they both need to rest. I'm sure you understand.'

'Of course, Albus. I hope that Mr. Dursley won't be a problem any more?'

'I don't believe that he will, no'

'Good.'

'Come on, Arthur, I'll take you down to see Javit so you can see the contract, then we'll get a pint at the Leaky before you head home,' Albus said, as he undid the wards on Arthur's door, and led Arthur out of his own office, down the corridor, and to the lifts.

* * * * * * * *

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore flooed from the Leaky Cauldron directly to his office at Hogwarts. There was much to do–much to think on, much to prepare for. He was happy for the boy–he really was–Harry, more than any other child in this coming war that was brewing deserved as much happiness as he could muster in this brief respite before things truly got bad. If he hadn't believed Harry had earned some well-deserved happiness he never would have arranged the meeting today with Miss Weasley–well, Mrs. Potter, now, he thought ruefully. But this bonding, well, this was…unexpected to say the least. It certainly caused some snags in his plans. Or, maybe, this could mean-? No, he thought to himself, that's impossible. He had already been over every possible option, every possible meaning of that damnable prophecy, multiple times. But he always–always–came to the same conclusion: Harry had to be sacrificed.

It was unfortunate, to be sure, but it was necessary; _'__Neither can live while the other survives.'_ There was no other way–Harry had to kill or be killed, and if he was honest, whatever power he supposedly had wouldn't be enough to defeat a resurrected Tom Riddle. Especially considering the protections Tom had made to ensure his immortality. No, Harry had to die, he thought. And now, thanks to that bonding, so would his young bride. Their sacrifice would be instrumental in bringing about the final downfall of Lord Voldemort, once and for all. It was unfortunate, and most assuredly not fair, but it was for the Greater Good. Through Harry's sacrifice, he would be able to save thousands of lives–if not more–and who was he to condemn so many to death in order to save two? No, he thought, shaking his head as if to physically clear it of cobwebs, this is the way it must be. The only thing he could do, at this point, was ensure that the young couple's lives together, as short as they may be, could be as fun and happy as possible.

The problem, as far as he could tell, was going to be Minerva. Minerva McGonagall, his oldest friend and most trusted confidant had been growing more and more curious–bordering on nosy–as of late; he was starting to worry about whether or not she knew of his plan–and if so, how much. She wasn't stupid, after all. Far from it, in fact–she was very astute, and if he wasn't careful, she would catch on. And that, he knew, would not end well. Despite her dour demeanour, she had a heart the size of Scotland, and she would surely do all she could to prevent the plan from continuing on course, as it must–and in so doing, would condemn thousands to death. She had already been more than vocal in her resentment of his placement of Harry with his relatives on Privet Drive, nearly every year she had seen fit to call his motives into question–even going so far as to offer to take the boy in herself, both in the earlier years as well as more recent ones–in an attempt to quell his fears about the boys safety. She was so vocal, in fact, that he had jokingly begun referring to her–to himself, at least, since he well knew she would not be amused at the nickname he had given her–as Minnie, the Tartan Terror.

And his fears had always proven well-founded; the boy must be kept safe, protected even, until the time came. No, he thought to himself yet again, ruefully adding, Minerva must be kept in the dark. As long as she remained in the dark, she would raise concerns, possibly suspicions even, but wouldn't act on any of them, and he couldn't afford her doing anything that would compromise his carefully laid plans. He indeed had much to think on.

* * * * * * * * *

Arthur Weasley sat alone in his darkened sitting room, nursing a rather large glass of Ogden's Finest. The old, well-worn leather of his favourite chair creaked and sagged happily, as if embracing an old friend, as he adjusted his weight and let himself relax fully. He sighed heavily as he took another draw of whiskey. Today had been a very long day. And tomorrow was sure to be as well. They would be visiting Harry and Ginny tomorrow–they had already sent Erroll with a letter but they hadn't received any response back from his daughter and new son-in-law–whom he already loved as one of his own–so they weren't sure if they would be expecting them tomorrow or not. Still, Arthur thought, considering how Molly had taken the news earlier, he'd readily chalk it up as a victory.

It wasn't that she was against Harry and Ginny being married, he knew–and so did she, after a bit of intervention on behalf of Bill; he chuckled to himself as he remembered exactly how his eldest son had intervened on behalf of his sister and new brother-in-law. Molly had recently stormed into the sitting room in a towering rage and shrieking like a banshee. Eventually, Bill, who had always been mild-mannered and pragmatic, had resolutely bound and silenced his mother; and then told her in a firm, yet quiet voice that seemed to brook no arguments that she wasn't angry at Harry or Ginny, not really. She was shocked, surprised, and perhaps a little angry at how young they were, sure, but not angry at them. He then told his mother that they may be a little young in terms of physical age, but both Harry and Ginny had to grow up quicker than most of their peers, and as such were–at least in terms of their maturity level–very much adults. She had looked at him as if he were barmy, and her mouth moved furiously to protest, but no sound came out, do to Bill's silencing charm that still held firm. He added that she was probably a little cheesed that she would never be able to plan Ginny's wedding for her, as the bonding was probably the best any of them could hope for–and it fit both of their personalities perfectly–and that was probably what was bothering her the most, and why she was so angry.

But what struck Arthur the most about his eldest son's scolding–it couldn't be termed anything else–of his own mother, was what he said next. It made his son seem ages older and wiser than his nearly 30 years of age. He told his mother: 'Mum, if this happened a few years from now, or if they asked you plan a wedding in a few years' time, you'd be over the moon. Ginny is your little Princess, and you love Harry like a son, and you know as well as I do that he's the perfect man for her–no one's better, and you know it–and if this had happened a few years from now, when they were a few years older, you would agree that Harry exactly the kind of man you want for Ginny. Stop being so angry and hypocritical, and be happy for them instead. They're obviously meant for each other–they wouldn't have bonded otherwise.'

Arthur remembered how shocked he was at his sons' words. Not because he hadn't been thinking the same thing, or that he wasn't absolutely correct, but rather because they were so true, so direct, and so eloquent in how he expressed them: with a simple, no-nonsense, yet tactful attitude, as if he were scolding his Aunt Muriel on using out-dated and offensive language. Which, he guessed, was more or less what Bill had done. Molly, too, was shocked at her son's words, he remembered, though obviously for different reasons. Arthur remembered as her eyes softened, a small smile played on her lips, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears of joy and shame at her behaviour. Once Bill was satisfied that Molly wouldn't have another outburst, he removed the silencing and binding charms he had placed on her, leaving Arthur and his wife alone to discuss what they would do next. They had decided that they would visit Harry and Ginny tomorrow to talk with them, give them advice, see what they planned to do now, and let them know that both of them were always welcome at the Burrow. After sending Errol off with a quick note to the new couple, and a quiet and subdued dinner–which in an of itself was a rarity in their house–they decided to go upstairs to bed early.

Molly, he remembered was out the minute her head hit the pillow, but he couldn't get himself to fall asleep, so after a few hours of tossing and turning fruitlessly, he found himself here, in his sitting room, nursing a glass of firewhiskey and contemplating the days events. It had, indeed, been a very, very long day. And tomorrow was sure to be as well, he thought. And with that thought, he downed the remainder of his glass of whiskey, and climbed the stairs to his bed.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the dead of night–or perhaps it was very early in the morning, Harry wasn't completely sure, but nevertheless he lay wide awake watching his wife–his wife!–who was now contendedly curled up in his arms, her head in the crux of his neck, her hand resting gently over his heart, asleep. He was sure that if anyone had been watching their two naked forms at that moment that he would have an exceedingly goofy grin on his face. But he didn't care–he was happy. If someone had told him a week, or hell, even a day ago, that today at the age of not-quite-sixteen he'd be married to the girl of his dreams, and for the first time in his life be really, truly, happy he'd have laughed in their face.

It seemed such an absurd thought that things hadn't always been this way; that they hadn't always been madly in love with the woman laying naked next to him, that they hadn't been married for ages–their entire lives, even–not the 10 or so hours that they had. It was as if they had always been together, it seemed. And the ease with which they seemed to adjust to each other seemed to settle the matter for him: he was glad that their magic had bonded them, and he was really going to enjoy being married to Ginny. He knew that with her by his side, that nothing, no matter how dark things got–and he was sure they would–they would never be so dark as to take away from his joy of life; more specifically, of his love of his life with her. He swore to himself then and there that he would do everything he could everyday of his life to deserve her love, and that, if he survived this war, he would find a career path that didn't involve chasing dark wizards or putting himself in danger. After all, he thought to himself, now he had something–someone–to live for.

He looked down at his sleeping wife's naked body again and smiled even broader at the memory of how they got that way. He had thought, personally, even after Dumbledore had told them of their bonding and all its…repercussions…that he would put up a greater resistance to taking that step with Ginny, even if they were married. After all, she was still 14, and he was still only 15. But Ginny, well, she was more persuasive than even he had thought, and it didn't take her long to convince him otherwise.

They had come back inside from a walk around Privet Drive and the surrounding neighbourhood. Harry didn't particularly fancy any of it, but Ginny, being her ever-persuasive self wanted to see where Harry grew up and spent his summers, so he acquiesced. After they came inside, it was already getting late, and after a quick meal of the remaining sandwiches that Mrs. Weasley had sent over with Ginny, they spent the night on the couch, engaged in a passionate snog. At some point that evening, Ginny had switched her position from sitting next to him, to straddling his lap and sitting on top of him, all the while continuing her machinations. Some time later, Ginny broke their kiss and asked.

_'__Harry?'_

'Hmm?'

'Would you like to…go upstairs?'

'What?!'

'Well, you know, Harry, Dumbledore did say we had to finish the bond that way…and after all, we are married, of course, and very much in love, right?'

'Well, yes, of course, Gin,'

'And since we are married, there's nothing wrong with us…taking that step, right Harry?'

'Well, I dunno, Gin…I mean, we're both still pretty young…'

'Harry,' she said firmly, with only thinly veiled exasperation, 'we're not THAT young. I mean, you'll be sixteen in fifteen days, and I'll be fifteen in a little over a month'

'Yes, but that's still kind of young to take that step, isn't it?'

'I don't think so, Harry. I mean, let's think about it for a second. I mean, a hundred years ago, we'd probably have a kid by now,' she said, smirking in a way that Harry found extremely sexy. His body wasn't helping him make his case. She continued, 'And besides, most of the reasons people say you need to be a certain age before having sex is to prevent people from having sex–and therefore kids–before they get married. But we don't have to worry about that, now do we, seeing as we're married, right?'

Her logic was irrefutable. Still, Harry wasn't sure. He still thought they were a bit young, and if he was being honest, he was absolutely scared of what that step would mean.  
'Well, I dunno, Ginny,' he said, trying in what he knew was a vain attempt to dissuade her.

'Well, I do, Harry. That is, unless you don't find me attractive, Harry?' she asked, coyly knowing all the while the answer to that question. His body was giving him away rather prominently.

'Ginny, you and I both know that you can tell that that isn't true,' he said, huskily.

'Well, then, Harry, let's go upstairs' she said, rising from his lap, and grabbing his hand lightly and leading him up the stairs. It was all Harry could do to follow her without falling over himself in surprise and anticipation. Once they had gotten up to the room and had performed the requisite charms, and after a few awkward moments and fits of giggling, they spent their first night together, and Harry was hard-pressed to think of why he had protested so fervently against it in the first place. Yes, Dumbledore was right, he was definitely going to enjoy being married to Ginny.

He had absent-mindedly started tracing his fingers lightly across her shoulders during his recollection. It was only after Ginny started to stir due to his ministrations that he even realised he had done it. Slowly, her head moved from the crux of his neck to look into his face, and her eyes slowly fluttered half-way open, and she smiled broadly as her eyes focused onto his face.

'H-Harry?'

'Yes, love?'

'What're yodo'n?'

Harry assumed she meant to ask him what he was doing, and so he answered,

'Counting your freckles, love'

'Why?'

'Because'

'Oh. Ok.' She said, snuggling in to him once again, a broad smile on her face.

'Harry?'

'Mhmm?'

'Love yobunose'now, tim'sleep' she mumbled. Harry chuckled.

'Of course, love. Let's get some sleep.'

'G'night husband'

' 'night, wife' Harry replied, as they both curled up into each others embrace, and Harry finally drifted off into one of the loveliest, most fitful sleeps of his entire life.

* * * * * * * * *

Harry awoke many hours later to light streaming into his window, and a faint smell of breakfast cooking coming from the kitchen. He was still half-asleep and a small smile played on his lips at the thought of being allowed to have a lie-in for once and not have to cook his aunt and uncle and cousin their breakfasts for once. He was just getting back to a very pleasant dream featuring a certain red-head when a clearly-female shriek roused him from his dream state, and he remembered the day before. That shriek was Ginny! He quickly threw on some boxers, grabbed his wand and ran down stairs towards the kitchen only to stop in his tracks at the sight before him.

Ginny was standing in the kitchen, her back towards him wearing only a large, white dress shirt of his. It was one of only three dress shirts that he owned, and he rather liked it, but, he thought, it looked rather better on her. It fell loosely around her, quite obviously too big for her, and fell down to just barely half-way down her bum, so it didn't quite cover the knickers she wore underneath, which were bright red and made of a vaguely shiny material that he didn't know the name to. He swore to himself that he'd find out, and he'd buy her as many pairs as she'd like. She was facing the hob and shrieking as she attempted–with apparently little success–to adjust the flame on it with magic. He chuckled at her antics quietly and leaned on the doorjamb. Unfortunately, she heard him chuckling and spun around faster than even he would have thought.

'Harry! What are you doing out of bed? I was trying to surprise you!' she cried, before quickly narrowing her eyes and she asked 'And just WHAT are you find so funny, Mr. Potter?' She had left the top three buttons to his shirt undone, leaving a tantalising view of her bra that matched her knickers and her cleavage, covered in dainty freckles. Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and could barely get his mouth to speak, he was so taken with the beauty of the sight before him–and the knowledge that she was his wife, and he'd be able to wake up to this sort of sight for the rest of his life–and finally replied,

'Nothing, Gin. Just, its hard to sleep when you hear your wife shrieking in kitchen. I was worried about you so I came to see what was wrong,' he said softly, shrugging his shoulders. 'So, what are you trying to do, Mrs. Potter?' he asked.

Ginny's eyes grew soft and alighted even further with joy, Harry noticed, at the mention of her new name.

'Say it again'

'What?'

'My name. My new name. Say it again, Harry'

'Mrs. Potter' Harry said, attempting to convey as much love and happiness in his voice as possible. He wanted her to know just how happy he was that she was, in fact, Mrs. Potter. She smiled broadly and sauntered over to him across the kitchen, traced her fingers through his hair and kissed him soundly until he could barely remember the question he had asked her. When she broke the kiss, she pulled away and replied,

'Well, Harry, I was trying to cook us some breakfast, and I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but I think that I've failed miserably on both counts,' she said, gesturing to the eggs and bacon that were burnt nearly beyond recognition and laughing. Harry couldn't help but to join her. Her laughter was infectious.

'Gin, you don't need to cook breakfast. I'm more than capable of cooking, too, you know,' he said.

'No, Harry, I didn't know that actually,' she said thoughtfully, before continuing, 'but even if I did, I know that I didn't have to do this, I wanted to, love. I may not be as traditional as Mum is, but there are some things that I agree with her on, and this is one of them. I'm your wife, Harry, and I like the idea of being able to take care of you, and someday, our family, by cooking for you. Besides,' she added, with just a slight coyness in her voice, 'I like being domestic with you, Harry.'

Harry smiled broadly, crossed over to where she stood, somewhat sourly staring at the ruined food on the hob, and threaded his arms around her waist, and kissed the nape of her neck. He didn't know what to say, how to respond to what she had told him, nor how to thank her. He had no idea how to tell her just how happy what she had just told him had made him, so he decided to simply show her through his ministrations. After a few minutes of exploring the skin around her neck, she extricated herself from her arms and smiled broadly at him, letting him know she understood.

'Harry?'

'Hrm?'

'How do you know how to cook? Something tells me cooking isn't exactly a great hobby of yours'

'Oh, um, no, I guess you could say that,' Harry said, now a bit embarrassed that he'd brought it up, because he knew that now he'd have to explain how he knew to cook. 'Lets just say I've had a lot of practice.' Ginny just looked at him, waiting for him to continue with his explanation, waiting until he was ready. She wasn't going to push, but she wasn't going to be left in the dark either. With one raised eyebrow, Harry got the picture, and continued. 'I've been cooking since I was seven years old'

'SEVEN?! You've been cooking since you were seven?! What in the world were you doing that for? Where was your aunt? I'm sure that she knows that that's dangerous for any seven year old, magical or not!' she said, obviously disgruntled on his behalf, but she was still calm and patient, waiting for his answer.

'She–well, my uncle mostly, but all of my relatives, really–are the reason why I started cooking so young. I've had to cook breakfast for them since I was seven years old. If I was lucky and didn't burn anything, I actually got to have some of it, rather than just scraps and a bit of toast,' he said, chuckling bitterly. The look on her face when he looked at her nearly broke his heart. Her face was a mixture of pure, unadulterated rage–on his behalf, he was sure–and so much tenderness and love it was hard to describe the actual emotion on his face. It was like an internal war was raging inside her head as to whether it was more important to comfort and reassure him first, or hunt down and hex every Dursley in England. She cared so much for him, he knew, and this just proved it further–and he loved her all the more for it. Before she could do or say anything, though, he showed her how much she meant to him, and tried to thank her for her emotional support by plunging his lips to hers and capturing her in a searing kiss. When they eventually broke apart, all he could manage to say was, 'Thank you, Ginny.' Ginny, for her part, could only smile back.

'Come on, Gin, I'll show you how to use this hob. I'm sure you're a great cook–but something tells me magic and Muggle appliances don't mix,' and he proceeded to magic the pots and hob clean, and summoned more eggs and bacon from the fridge, and proceeded to show her exactly how to use all the Muggle appliances in the Dursley kitchen.

After they had finished cooking their breakfast (together) and had eaten, and Harry had gone upstairs and put on some clothes, they sat together relaxing quietly, thinking about what they wanted to do that day, when there was a knock on the door. Harry got up from the sofa they were sitting on and opened the door, to reveal a very awkward-looking Arthur and Molly Weasley. Arthur, for his part, looked much calmer than Molly; he also looked like he was barely containing his excitement at wearing Muggle clothes and walking around in a Muggle neighbourhood in broad daylight. Molly looked extremely wary and uncomfortable. Quickly remembering his manners, Harry ushered them inside.

'Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, what are you doing here?' he asked, quite surprised to see them, at his aunt and uncle's house, no less.

'What do you mean, Harry? We sent Errol over yesterday with a letter letting you know we'd be dropping by today. Didn't you get it?' Arthur asked, confused.

'No, not that I'm aware,' Harry said, following them into the sitting room, where Ginny was sat on the couch, in the same state of dress (or undress, as the case may be) as earlier. 'I could check, if you want, see if he came in with Hedwig?' he added, just as Molly Weasley stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her daughter.

'GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!' She cried, scandalised. 'What in Merlin's name are you wearing!?'

'MUM!' Ginny cried, in an equal tone of voice, though she was surprised, rather than embarrassed or scandalised. 'What are you doing here?!'

'I asked you a question, young lady! Answer me!' her mother crowed, either refusing to answer her daughters' question, or not even registering that she had been asked a question. Ginny's surprise was quickly replaced by a steely resolve, as she replied coolly,

'A shirt, mother. That is what I'm wearing. A shirt.'

'Don't you give me any lip, young lady, I'm still your mother'

'I'm not giving you lip, Mum. You asked me a question, I answered you. I'm wearing a shirt'

'Yes, but nothing else! What is the matter with you? Where did you get the idea that that is appropriate?! I certainly didn't raise you to dress like a trollop!'

'Mother!'

'Its true, Ginevra. How do you expect to be taken seriously when you dress like that!'

'Well, I wasn't planning on going out like this, Mum. I put it on to make breakfast in…,'

'Yes, well, be that as it may, it is long past breakfast-time. You could have easily changed'

'I could have,' Ginny agreed. 'But I didn't feel the need. After all, it was just me and Harry…'

'HARRY?! You let a BOY see you dressed like that?! Ginevra Molly Weasley, what on EARTH were you thinking?!' Molly crowed.

'Molly…,' Arthur added gently. 'Remember what we talked about…'

'Yes, Mother, I did let HARRY see me like this! He is my HUSBAND, after all, as I'm sure you're aware by now!' Ginny cried, her emotions running wild at the baiting of her mother. 'And I'll thank you to call me by my proper last name, now, mother. My name is Ginny Potter, now, and I'll thank you to remember that!'

'What…oh…how…dare…' her mother spluttered, trying, and failing, to form a coherent argument to her daughters' statement.

It was Arthur who stepped in to stop the brewing shouting match.

'Why don't we all just sit down and talk like adults? Molly, Ginny?' he asked, motioning the two most important women in his life to the sitting room. Ginny took a seat on the sofa she and Harry had occupied not long before, leaving a space for Harry to sit when he returned from the bedroom that held Hedwig's perch. Molly sat on a rather stiff-looking wingbacked chair in a very ugly pattern that happened to be one of Petunia's favourites. Arthur, seeing no other seats available, conjured a replica of his favourite leather armchair and proceeded to sit down, so that he could face both his daughter and his wife.

'Arthur, aren't you going to do anything about how she's dressed? We didn't raise her to dress so scandalously…,'

'No, Molly, I'm not. Because, like it or not, she's right. Harry is her husband, and until they find somewhere else to live, this is her home, not ours. It would be rude to act otherwise.'

'You're not helping, Arthur'

'If by not helping, you mean not helping you work yourself into a rage and further infuriate and alienate our daughter, you're right. I'm not. We talked about this yesterday, Molly, and you promised not to yell or get angry.'

'That was before she started dressing like a tramp!'

'I seem to remember you dressing the same way when we were first married'

'Arthur! Don't talk about our sex life in front of the children! It's not proper!'

'Just like we shouldn't make our children divulge their sex lives to us, Molly, and besides, what I told them could hardly be considered divulging. I mean, they're not stupid, love. Anyone could put two and two together. I could tell her much more telling stories of what we got up to at her age, but I don't think either of you would appreciate that,' he said, winking nearly imperceptively at Ginny.

'That was different!' Molly cried, blushing furiously.

'Why?'

'We were adults! We were legally married! We had dated for years before we had gotten married!'

Arthur let out an exasperated sigh. 'Molly, while their circumstances might be different, their feelings are the same. They love each other, on a level that we can only begin to comprehend. They bonded naturally, dear, they didn't plan it. It just happened. Would I have liked to wait a few years before my son-in-law took my daughter from me? Of course. But it didn't happen that way, Mollywobbles, and we have to deal with what is'

'He's right, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, coming down the stairs from his room, a small bit of parchment, which must have been the letter they sent with Erroll the previous day, and moving to sit beside Ginny. His eyes reflected his tormenting emotions of love for Ginny and the Weasleys, confidence and pride in his new status with Ginny, as well as hurt and pain at Molly's hurtful words.

'If anyone had told me, even a week ago, that Ginny and I would be married today, I'd have laughed in their face. It's not that I didn't care for Ginny–though, to be honest, I was trying to fight those feelings, for reasons I'd rather not explain. But I just didn't think anything like this even remotely possible, what with our ages, and the war and everything else. But now that its happened, Mrs Weasley, I wouldn't trade this–our bond, our marriage, whatever you want to call what this is–for anything. I know we're young, and there's a war starting, and all of us are probably going to be involved in it, but that doesn't change anything, Mrs Weasley. I love Ginny more than I ever thought it was possible to love someone. I can't promise much, Mrs Weasley, because so much is unknown, but I can promise you this: I promise I will always love her and do as much as she'll let me to take care of her and keep her safe, and I promise that she will always be loved, and respected, and happy' he said, quite passionately.

Mr and Mrs Weasley were stunned into silence by the boy's–no, young man's–passionate display in defence of his marriage to Ginny. If there were ever any lingering doubts to either of them at the sincerity of their love, Harry's impassioned speech banished them. Ginny took their moment of stunned silence to her advantage, and used it to kiss Harry soundly on the mouth in a way that left them both slightly breathless.

'And I'm sure you know this already, Mum, but I feel the same way as Harry. I love him, Mum. This isn't some fling, we aren't playing at being married or anything. This is real, Mum, and it lasts forever. If there were any doubts for either of us, it wouldn't have happened. Please, Mum, be happy for us. Don't…Don't make me choose, Mum. Please don't make me choose between my family and my husband' she said, nearly pleading by the end of her just as impassioned speech.

That was what did it for Molly. She had already–intellectually, at least–accepted their new relationship, but it was hard for her to let her baby girl, her youngest child and only daughter, go. It was harder than she ever imagined it would be to let her baby girl go, and to think of her as a married woman, particularly since all of her elder brothers were still very much single, and she would still be only fourteen for a month. But seeing her daughter like that, and hearing those words come out of her mouth–plus the words Harry had said, poor, sweet Harry, the boy she'd practically adopted as one of her own, now was. She realised, then and there, how horribly she'd been acting and resolved to make it up to her daughter and new son-in-law, then and there, and for good. Her eyes were glistening and tearing up with unshed tears that threatened to pour down her face, and before anyone knew what was happening, she was on her knees in front of the sofa Harry and Ginny were sitting on, wrapping them both in a bone-crushing hug that was her trademark.

'Oh, Merlin, no, Ginny. Of course not! I would never ask you to make such a horrible decision,' she cried, her voice hitching in places, as she embraced the teenage couple and tears fell openly from both women's eyes. 'I could never do such a horrible thing, Ginny. I'm not a monster. It's just…I was worried about you, both of you. You're both just so young, and being married, like anything else, has its ups and downs. I was just trying to protect you. Both of you. I'm a mother, Ginny, and that's what we do,' she said, giving the couple one last squeeze before releasing them, returning to her seat, and wiping her eyes with a flower-patterned handkerchief.

She continued, 'One day, you'll be in my position, Ginny, and you'll understand. Though, hopefully, you'll wait a few years to give us grandchildren,' she said, with only the slightest hint of a smirk and amusement. 'I'm sorry, Ginny, for acting the way I did. I think that its just…I'm disappointed I'll never be able to plan your wedding,' she said. 'Could you ever forgive your old Mum?' she asked, her heart in her eyes.

'You know Mum, I really shouldn't, because you said some very hurtful things, but I love you and I know your heart is in the right place, so…I forgive you,' Ginny said, walking over to her mother and giving her another tight hug. She also used the opportunity to whisper in her ear 'Besides, Mum, you have six other children to plan weddings for. But in the meantime, I you should leave Harry and I alone, on that front. But I think Harry could use some reassuring. What you said really cut him pretty deep,' she said. Molly was, naturally, horrified to hear this, and after quite a bit of prodding managed to get him to look her in the eyes once Ginny had gone upstairs to shower and Arthur had gone into the back garden to explore, she finally got him to look at her.

'Harry dear,' she asked, 'You do know that I love you like one of my own, right?'

Harry just nodded briefly, and if Molly hadn't been looking right at him, she'd have missed it. She sighed. 'Harry, please, look at me,' she said, when Harry's eyes once again traveled to the floor. He looked at her, and Molly's heart was in her chest at the hurt she saw in his eyes.

'Harry, please, you do understand that the things I said, or insinuated about you, or Ginny, or your relationship, or anything else, was said out of anger. I didn't really mean that. I know its no excuse, but it's all I've got. You know I love you right?' Harry again nodded. 'And you know that I do support your relationship with Ginny, right?' Harry didn't make any motions to indicate that he did. 'Oh, Harry dear, you have to know that I do–we do, all of us–you've been family since your second year, and now you really are. You have to know that we are all happy for you, don't you?'

'Even Ron?'

'Well, Ron might take a while to calm down, but he's a good boy. Once he understands what's happened, I'm sure he'll be as happy for you as we are'

'Are you happy for us, Mrs Weasley?'

'Of course I am, Harry. I know what I said, or even what I insinuated, must have hurt you deeply. Please know that I never meant any of it that way'

'Then why did you say it?'

'Harry,' Molly sighed, softly, before continuing. 'I know I told you this already, and I know its no excuse, but I was angry. I was angry at this happening under my nose, and to my daughter and the boy I considered a son, without my consent or knowledge, and most of all, at such a young age, for both of you. I wanted to make sure you–both of you–were sure and weren't making a mistake later in life. Ginny is my daughter, Harry, and obviously I want what's best for her-,' she said.

'And I'm not?' Harry asked in a tone that would have been angry, had Harry not been so depressed. As it was it was barely even spirited.

'What ever would make you think that, Harry?'

'Well, you were so angry about the bond, I just thought that it must have been because I'm not good enough for Ginny, or something. I mean, I know I'm probably not, but she loves me, and I love her and…' Harry began, but before he could begin to rant, he was caught into a tight hug by Mrs Weasley, stopping him in his tracks.

'Oh you dear, sweet boy, Harry James Potter. Of course you're good enough for Ginny! Curse those relatives of yours, for treating such a wonderful boy so horribly! How dare they make you think you're not worthy!' she said, before muttering about all the things she would like to do to Vernon Dursley and his family.

She continued, 'No, Harry, you are the best boy I have ever met. You are so sweet, and kind, and full of love and joy, and there is no one I would rather see Ginny with than you. I am very glad that you two have found each other, Harry. What I was saying before, however, is that I want what's best for Ginny, as her mother. But also, Harry, I see you as my son. And that includes everything that entails, including your well-bieng in times like this. I was worried for you, Harry dear, just as much as for Ginny. I wanted to make sure you were both ready for this, and that this is what you both wanted, and that this was the best for both of you. Merlin knows Ginny's wanted this since she was ten years old, but you've never shown an interest in her until recently–yes, Harry, I noticed the way you looked at her at King's Cross–,' she said, to Harry's gobsmacked face.

'I just had to make sure that you were both happy and this was something you both wanted. So really, Harry, I was more worried about you than Ginny.' She paused for breath and began again, looking Harry in the eyes with a look of such maternal care that Harry couldn't help but feel his spirits lift. 'I'm sorry for getting so angry, Harry, and for acting the way I did. It's just that you're both so young; I still remember you as that knobby-kneed little boy who asked me for help to get to the Platform all those years ago, I forget that you're nearly a man, now. Do you think you could ever forgive me?' she asked, her voice hitching and her heart in her throat.

Without warning, Harry broke into a huge grin and threw his arms around Mrs Weasley, surprising her, and engulfing her in a massive hug of his own. 'Of course I forgive you, Mrs Weasley. I was just so worried you wouldn't approve of me and Ginny. I was so afraid you wouldn't approve of me marrying her,' he said, repeating something similar quite a few times before Molly returned the hug and they broke apart.

'Oh, Harry dear, of course I approve,' she said in a tone that brooked no interruptions. 'Now, I'm glad that mess is cleared up. It wouldn't be good for my new son-in-law to be angry at me, now would it?' she asked chuckling and shaking her head jovially before returning to her normal demeanour with which Harry was much more familiar. 'Now Harry dear,' she continued, 'since you are officially part of this family now, no more calling me Mrs Weasley' she said in a stern, but friendly voice.

'But–'

'No, Harry. I won't hear of it. From now on, it's Molly, for you. Unless, that is, you'd feel comfortable calling me Mum?' she added, in a much less stern, and borderline unsure voice. 'I know that you might feel uncomfortable with that, or might think that it takes away from your own mum's memory, so I'd understand if you'd like to stick with Molly, Harry, but I'm serious about the no Mrs Weasley, thing,' she added.

Harry just smiled before saying, 'I don't think my Mum would have a problem with that,' he said, before continuing. 'In fact, I think my mum would be honoured if I called you mum, Mum.' He said, hugging her again briefly, just as Ginny came down the stairs, feeling, somehow, that her husband and mother had worked out whatever latent issues may have been needed to be worked out.

The rest of the day was spent pleasantly enough, by the four people at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry and Ginny spent most of the day visiting with her parents (after a quick tour around 'a real Muggle neighbourhood' for Arthur. The older couple spent most of the day regailing the newlyweds about stories from when they were just married, as well giving them many hints and rules they had come up with for a happy, loving, successful marriage, such as 'never go to bed angry' and 'no matter how busy life gets, always make time for each other' and such. All in all, it was a great day, for the young couple, especially after the Weasleys had left, as they then went to go see a film at a Muggle cinema (which Ginny had never done before, and was thoroughly engrossed by the entire concept, and absolutely loved), to be followed with a nice dinner at a Muggle restaurant. They both felt it was rather funny, however, that their first 'real date' was after they had already been married. But then again, neither one of them had ever been for doing things the 'normal' way. Once they got home, they spent the rest of the night exploring each other and their bond. They finally fell asleep in each others' arms sometime in the early pre-dawn hours.


	8. Interlude: Down at the End of your Road

The calm of the late July evening was suddenly and violently broken by a loud crack, followed by several more cracking sounds, shattering the peace and calm of Little Whinging. Immediately after the sounds, had anyone cared to find out, they'd have found the presence of six imposing, cloaked figures who, in addition to not being there the previous moment, looked painfully out of place.

The tallest one, like all of them, wore a black cloak and white mask to hide his features. His platinum-blonde hair cascaded from the back and sides, however, and fell to around his shoulders, and he carried an intricately carved, and quite obviously expensive, black walking stick with a silver serpent head. Next to him stood one that appeared as if he were somehow directly related: the only differences in their outward appearance was that one was shorter, and the shorter one wore his hair shorter and slicked back, and carried no walking stick. They both carried them with an air of practiced grace and carefully calculated elegance, and a complete sense of superiority. To the right of the blonde-haired pair was a woman. She was slightly taller than the shorter blonde, with wild and unruly black hair, and though no one could see her face to judge her features, it could be seen by her grace, and the way she carried herself, that she was at one time a great beauty, but that was slightly diminished as she had become slightly unhinged over the years.

Next to her stood another tall man–nearly as tall as the tall blonde man–with long, greasy black hair, and who also wore a cape with his robes. He was the only one in the group to not have his wand drawn. Slightly to the side of all the rest of them, as if slightly scared of his companions, was a stout, fat, twitchy man. He was of small stature, shorter even than the woman; yet despite his short stature he had a considerable girth about him. He carried himself in a very nervous, twitchy manner, similar to someone who had been recently released from prison, or a fugitive for the better part of his life. His head was balding, but what hair remained was a quickly-greying mousy brown colour. Finally, standing slightly in front of all of the rest of them was their obvious leader: he was tall, but not as tall as the either the blonde-haired or black-haired man, slender–almost scrawny–in his physique, and extremely pale. His skin was so white it was nearly iridescent, and his eyes were the colour of blood. His nose was inhumanely flat, and his nostrils were little more than snake-like slits. Lord Voldemort, accompanied by his most trusted Death Eaters, had Apparated to the front door-step of Number Four, Privet Drive.

'Lucius, Draco, and Bellatrix, stay with me. Severus, Wormtail, find the Squib, and kill her,' he said, Severus Snape and Wormtail immediately leaving to do their Lord's bidding, before training his wand on the door and blasting it off its hinges.

As soon as Lord Voldemort had blown the door off its hinges, he entered the house along with the three Death Eaters, and ran first into the husband and son, who had both gone to investigate what the hubbub was.

'Kill the child!' He commanded without a second thought.

'Go on, Draco. Kill him' a sickeningly sweet, female voice echoed.

'Yes, Aunt Bella,' Draco Malfoy said, smirking through his mask. 'Avada Kedavra!' he cried, and Dudley Dursley fell from his position on the bottom stair, into the foyer, his body cold and his eyes lifeless.

Not wanting to waste any time with this oaf of a Muggle, Voldemort wasted no time in turning his wand on Vernon Dursely as he demanded he tell him what he wanted to know.

'Where is he?' he demanded of Vernon Dursley, who had just been released from the local prison a week and a half ago to await his trial at home.

'Y-Y-You just killed him!' Vernon stuttered.

'Not that oaf you call a boy, idiot. It's bad enough you're a muggle, but you can't be that dense, too, can you?' Voldemort taunted. 'Now, tell me, and I may just let you live: Where is the boy?' he demanded. At which point, Petunia had made her way into the foyer, and upon seeing her son's body lying dead and limp on the floor, immediately rushed to his body, crying something that sounded suspiciously like 'my baby, my baby'. After a few minutes of sobbing at her son's body, and Vernon's stuttering at wand-point, she looked up to see her son's murder and husband's assailant: a man whom she had seen once before, only briefly, the night her parents died, 17 years earlier. She looked up to see Lord Voldemort.

'YOU!' she cried. 'YOU DID THIS!' she yelled, full of righteous anger, standing up to her full height, rounding on Lord Voldemort, and raising her voice to its full timbre like she hadn't done in years. Vernon, for his part, was stunned silent, first at the appearance of wizards–wizards that were neither his nephew, nor associated with that freaky school–in his home, then at the death of his son, and now with the apparent outspokenness of his until recently demure wife; Voldemort just turned his attention to her and chuckled as she kept on raging, 'It wasn't enough to take my parents and my sister! No, you had to take my son, too!? What kind of a monster are you!?'

'Well, well, well,' he said, still chuckling to himself. 'If it isn't Petunia Evans. I mean, Petunia Dursley,' he corrected himself. 'I guess that being a Muggle doesn't get in the way of possessing that same Gryffindor bravery your sister had,' he said, smiling wanly as he, and by extension, everyone else, moved out of the foyer and into the sitting room. 'An admirable trait, I must say. Eternally stupid, but admirable,' he said, as he trained his wand on Vernon once again, though he continued to talk to her.

'You see, Petunia, I'm here for one thing, and one thing only. And I think you know very well what that thing is,' he said, smirking at her intake of breath and hardening of her features. She would not betray Harry and his wife; she was horrible to him when he was a child, this was the least she could do for him.

'I could care less about your pathetic little Muggle family, or your life here,' he said to her. 'You and your husband don't have to die tonight, Petunia. You could give me what I came here for, and bury your son, and live out the rest of your lives in peace and anonymity' he said, a voice that was silky, seductive. Petunia was sure that he'd used that voice to get what he'd wanted many, many times throughout his life. 'But rest assured, Petunia Evans, if you don't give me what I want, you will be reunited with your pathetic, mudblood sister tonight' he said in a voice that was as hard as the other one was sweet.  
'Now, I will ask you one more time before I start to lose my patience,' he said, once again in the seductive voice. 'Where is the boy?'

'I-I-I don't know,' she stuttered. 'He left. Said he was never coming back. I don't know where he went,' she said.

'Insolent, foolish, girl,' Voldemort said, raising his wand to her. 'Do you think I became the most powerful wizard in the world without being able to know when I was being lied to? Crucio!'

As she writhed on the floor, twisting and screaming out from a pain greater than she had felt ever before, Vernon Dursley got his wits about him and ran to the cup-board under the stairs, where he now kept the rifle he had bought six summers ago before Harry had started at that infernal school.

'You let her go, and leave my house this instant, or I'll shoot!' he cried at the top of his lungs, pointing the rifle at Voldemort's chest. Voldemort, however, continued to cackle as Petunia shrieked and writhed under the pain of his Cruciatus. Vernon squeezed the rifle's trigger, however, the shot missed. Voldemort, however, finally lifted the curse from Petunia and focused his attention to the overly-large muggle in front of him.

'You Muggles are so quaint. You fear magic and all it can do, yet you create such…inventive, if crude, methods of killing each other. However, I'm still rather partial to ours. Avada Kedavra!' he cried, and the other man also collapsed to the floor, much like his son, his eyes staring out dead in a silent accusation.

'VERNON!' Petunia cried out as her husband collapsed to the floor, dead. Lord Voldemort once again trained his wand on her as she looked out at the lifeless bodies of her husband and son.

'I will ask you again, you foolish girl. Where is Harry Potter?'

'I told you already, I don't know!'

'I don't believe you! Where is he?'

'I-I-I don't know! I don't know!' she cried, repeatedly, tears flowing down her usually stoic face.

'You're not doing anyone any favours, Petunia. You can walk away from this, alive and forever unharmed. All you need to do is tell me where he is,' he said, once again in his silky, seductive voice. 'You aren't protecting him this way, Petunia. At least this way, if you tell me, I will kill your nephew quickly, and as painlessly as possible. If you don't, however, and he tries to resist me, I promise you I will kill him as slowly and as painfully as possible,' he said in a voice that was deadly serious and so quiet she had to strain to hear it.

'I told you, you bastard, I don't know where he is! He left!'

'Where did he go, Petunia? He's not yet 17. He can't leave his guardian's home for an extended period of time without permission. You have to no where he went!'

'I don't! He didn't tell me!'

'He had to tell you something. Is he at the Burrow? With those blood-traitor Weasleys?'

'No! I don't know where he is!' she cried, tears streaming down her face, staining her face with running mascara. She did, however, recognise that last name, and knew he wasn't with any Weasleys. Unless you counted his wife.

'I don't believe you, Petunia Evans. Crucio!' he cried, as she once again writhed and screamed in pain, as the Death Eaters looked on gleefully.

'My Lord,' Bellatrix Lestrange offered, quietly, so as not to anger him into lifting the curse from Petunia and putting it on herself, instead.

'What is it, Bella?'

'Maybe he is under the Fidelius? Perhaps she literally can't tell you where the Potter brat is…'

'Perhaps you are right, Bellatrix,' Voldemort said, thoughtfully, over the screams of Petunia Dursley, before continuing. 'No matter. I will get the information I need out of her, one way or another,' he added, as he lifted the curse from Petunia. 'Go ahead and reward yourself, Bella. Take your brother-in-law and your nephew and play with the Muggles. There are plenty about; I'm sure you can find some way to entertain yourself, I'm sure,' he added, smirking evilly at Petunia's prone form as she panted from the exertion of being placed under the Cruciatus.

'Thank you, My Lord,' Bellatrix said, gleefully, before leading the way back out of Number Four and down Privet Drive.

'As for you, Petunia, you will tell me what I want to know. Where is the Potter chit?'

'I told you already! I don't know!'

'Well, maybe. We'll see what you do know, then, shall we?' he asked in a sickeningly sweet voice before cursing her again for a few moments. 'Now, what do you remember? Surely he told you something about where he was going?'

'I'll never tell you!'

'Oh, I'm sure that you think that. But eventually, you'll tell me. Believe me, they all do' he said. 'Now, what did he tell you? Where is Potter?'

'Piss off!'

'Well, well, is the posh Londoner finally showing her roots? You know what they say: you can take the girl out of the Brum, but you can never take the Brummy out of the girl,' he said, clicking his tongue and lips together, softly making a scolding sound. 'Tell me where he is, and I'll let you live!'

'You'll have to kill me, because I'll never tell you'

'Oh, fear not, Petunia. I intend to kill you. But I need you to tell me what I need to know first. IMPERIO!' he cried. Petunia was overwhelmed by an overwhelming sense of contentedness, warmth, and comfort. All her pain was gone. For some reason the recent deaths of her husband and son, and the fact that this man was plying her for information about her wizard nephew seemed so far away, and nearly irrelevant. She was overcome with a desire to help the man in front of her, to tell him what he needed to know. Yes, that was it. She would help the nice man, and then she would take a nap, she thought.

'Where is Harry Potter?' he asked.

'I don't know. London, I think. Somewhere in London, I think. He left a few weeks ago. Said he was going to move in with his godfather, but he didn't say anything beyond that. Said he couldn't tell me any more. I'm sorry I couldn't help you any more, sir,' she said, in a dreamy voice that would make Luna Lovegood jealous.

'And he moved in with his godfather?'

'That's what he said'

'But Sirius Black is dead'

'Then I don't know what to tell you. That's what he told me. That's all I know' she said, in a still-dreamy voice, though she was steadily gaining her wits back about her.

'Oh, don't worry about that, Petunia. You have been ever so helpful,' he said, leveling his wand at her prone body. 'AVADA KEDAVRA!'

As soon as the sickly green light hit her prone body, everything went black.

* * * * * * * * *

Severus Snape was furious that Wormtail had been included in the mission. He would ruin everything. Despite his clumsiness, sluggishness, and overall lack of any reasonable skills necessary to function in modern society, he was quite adept at the darkest of curses, and was intensely loyal to the Dark Lord. If he hadn't been such a worthless, penniless human being, Severus thought, he would have no doubt that he would be one of the Dark Lord's most chosen followers. As it was, he would ruin everything if Severus tried to avoid actually killing the squib. Now, he was between a rock and a hard place, he fumed, as he led the well-practiced way to Arabella Figg's home. He either had to kill her, or watch as Wormtail killed her, or reveal his true loyalties. He had no choice, he thought glumly, but let Wormtail kill the woman. Today was not turning out to be a good day for Severus Snape.

When they got to Arabella Figg's, Wormtail didn't even wait for him to unlock the door magically before he blasted it off it's hinges. Crossing over the threshold of what used to be a pristinely kept, if slightly oddly coloured, front door as the dust settled, Severus and Wormtail immediately set to work looking for the old squib. They found her in the kitchen. By the looks of things, she had been just sitting down to her evening meal when they blasted the door off its hinges, and pell mell into her front room. At which point, he gathered, she left her meal unattended as she dashed to her mantel to grab for a vase which, he assumed, must have held floo powder. She was in the process of hurriedly trying to start a fire in the grate so she could floo for help when they found her. She barely had time to turn around and register the fact that her life was over before Wormtail gleefully cackled, 'AVADA KEDAVRA!' and she fell to the floor, dead, the vase of floo powder shattering as it made contact with her linoleum floors.

'Well, that was easy, wasn't it, Severus?' Wormtail said, as he sat down at Arabella Figg's dining table, and helping himself to her still-warm chicken.

'I should think it would be, killing an elderly squib. After all, she could hardly defend herself against you, could she?' he quipped in return.

Taking this remark as a complement, Wormtail laughed jovially and smiled broadly before greedily tucking in to the meal. He spoke rapidly between bites, of which Severus was able to make out, 'No one will be a match for us much longer, Severus, once the Dark Lord gets rid of the Potter brat once and for all'

Severus responded with a non-committal shrug and a guttural noise that he hoped convey the same idea, as he sat down, disgusted, as he watched his slob of a companion devour the meal set upon the table. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of spellfire and the cackling of Bellatrix LeStrange, and the posh voice of Lucius Malfoy egging her on, as they waited to be summoned back to their masters' side.

* * * * * * * * * *

Doctor and Mrs Watson were sitting down to a quiet night of summer telly while their dinner simmered on the stove, when their lives were changed forever. After Ellie had decided to move back to London with Harry and Ginny to live with Harry's godfather while they brought her up to speed on her education, things had more or less settled back to normal; no more talk of magic, and wands, and potions around the dinner table, no strange visitors parading through their home, and no strange owls showing up at all hours of the night and day delivering post. It felt strange, almost, to go back to a perfectly normal life. Of course, things weren't normal. Their daughter was living in London in a house with magical protections to make it impossible to find, with the neighbour-boy and his wife–his wife!–and his godfather, all of whom just happened to be able to do magic. She was away from them, away from home, for more than a couple of days, for the first time in her life, and in this new place, she would be learning to do magic as well. But, in the calm of the late July evening, even that seemed so very far away, and even normal, as they sat, relaxed, watching telly and enjoying the English summer weather.

With a flash of white light and loud cracking sound, however, that all changed. In a matter of moments three cloaked strangers stormed into their house through the wreckage that was their front door only moments before. Wands drawn, they rounded on the Watsons, and the two blondes and the woman seemed to pause for a moment, contemplating them, before going berserk. Spells began flying everywhere, as if they were trying to destroy everything of value in the house before them: the telly, shutters, a welsh dresser with all sorts of nick-knacks, the good china, a grandfather clock that stood in the corner, everything. Then, in the blink of an eye, their wands were trained on the Watsons themselves. Steeling himself, and finding all his courage, Doctor Watson stood up from the place he had been taking shelter, and stepped forward, ready to confront the magical intruders, to demand they explain themselves.

'Now, you see here…' he began, but he was immediately grabbed by some unseen power, and flipped upside down, and dangling in front of his assailants, all of whom were cackling with glee. 'YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!' he demanded, as if a simple scolding would somehow get the to behave properly.

'And why ever should I do that?' an arrogant, drawling voice asked. It was coming from the taller blonde man. 'In fact, you're lucky I don't just kill you outright this very instant, you insignificant Muggle trash'

'You put me down, and put your wands away!' John Watson cried. 'No one ever told me about this violence when I let Ellie go to that school of yours!' he screamed, furious, as he waved his hands about in a futile attempt to fight back. Rather than be released, he felt, for a short time, the most searing pain he had ever in his life experienced. It was so painful, he felt that he physically couldn't cry out in pain; he thought it was the most physically painful and exhausting thing he had ever experienced. When the pain dissipated, he was panting in exhaustion.

'That was the Cruciatus Curse,' a sickly sweet, feminine voice cooed from the side of the tall blonde man. 'Its sole purpose it to torture nice people like you. I rather enjoy using it; its one of my favourites,' she said, giggling in a slightly unhinged fashion, before she continued. 'You are going to tell my nephew and brother-in-law what exactly you meant by what you just said, or I'm going to have to put you under again, and for longer this time'

'What are you talking about? I've been dealing with your kind for weeks. That Professor Dumbledore or whatever his name is. Came to the door and said my daughter was a witch,' he said, gasping for breath between words. 'If I'd have known you were going to come and destroy my home and torture me after she'd gone, I'd never have agreed to let her attend' he said.

'CRUCIO!' the woman cried.

'What do you mean, she left? Hogwarts term doesn't start until September the First. Where is she now?' she questioned.

'What do you mean, where is she now? She went to London a few weeks ago with the Potters! Your people arranged it! Some Order of something or other! Now put me down!'

'CRUCIO!' She cried again, this time leaving him under the curse for quite a few long minutes, all the while, Mrs. Watson was restrained and silenced, so her protestations fell silent. 'CRUCIO!' She again cried, this time putting Mrs. Watson under the curses effects, forcing her husband to watch as she writhed and screamed silent screams of agony.

'What are you doing? You monsters! Leave her be!' John Watson cried, trying to get his wife free from the torturous magic.

'I have a secret to tell you, Muggle,' the woman said, leaning really closely to whisper in his ear, after she had finished subjecting him and his wife to the most recent round of the Cruciatus Curse. 'Not all wizards are nice to your kind, like that Muggle-loving do-gooder, Albus Dumbledore. There is a war coming to our world, and Albus Dumbledore and his Order of the Flaming Chicken are going to lose,' she said, noting with satisfaction how his eyes widened in shock and fear. 'And I am personally going to find this daughter of yours, and I am going to kill her,' she said, smiling broadly and cackling madly at the tears pouring from the man's face. 'And there's nothing you can do to stop me. Goodbye, Muggle. AVADA KEDAVRA!' she shouted, and, after she released her levitation charm, he fell to the floor, lifeless. At the same time, two identical shouts of Avada Kedavra and two identical green lights shot out of the wands of the other two, towards the silenced, bound and tortured Elizabeth Watson, and she, too fell to the floor, dead. At that moment, Bellatrix LeStrange's dark mark began to get unpleasantly warm; her Lord was summoning her. Their victory was at hand.

'Lucius, Draco, come on! We must get back! I do believe we are being summoned' she said, and with that, the three of them quickly left the premises of the Watson residence and made their way quickly back to Number Four, Privet Drive.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Bellatrix, Draco and Lucius had arrived back at Number Four, it was quite apparent that something had gone quite wrong. Nearly the entire house was destroyed. All except for the front façade, and what looked to be a small part of what was once the upper floor to the house was completely gone, and even the small portion of the house that was still intact seemed to only be so due to being held together by the tiniest thread of very powerful magic. What was left of the roof was caving in dangerously, and there was little left of the actual house beyond the front room. They met Severus and Wormtail just inside the now long-gone door. There were three bodies lying prone and motionless on the ground: the child, the husband and the wife. There was no sign of their Master. He was not well, this much was clear. Something had gone wrong; but they couldn't even find a body. Something had gone horribly wrong, that much was certain. It was much too similar to that fateful Halloween night during the first war, when their Master had gone missing for over a decade. It was Lucius who had gotten his wits about him first, and he who took control. After one final search for their Master, he said in a quick, harsh voice that would brook no argument,

'We need to leave. No doubt the Muggle authorities, and the Order will be here soon. We need to get out of here, now. Everyone go back to your homes and lie low for a few weeks. We will regroup at headquarters in three weeks' time' and with that, he grabbed his son by the elbow, and apparated from the spot. His action was quickly followed by Bellatrix, Wormtail and Severus Snape.

Severus Snape apparated immediately to his home in Spinner's End, and from there flooed directly to Albus Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts.

'Severus!' Albus cried, only slightly surprised at his intrusion, as he exited the fireplace. 'Sit down, Severus, you're white as a sheet. What's happened?' he asked, as he guided Severus to a plus armchair across from his desk and poured his potions master a cup of tea. Gratefully accepting the proffered drink, Severus took a sip and then haltingly told the headmaster all that happened in the course of the evening.

'Well, this is very serious, indeed, Severus. Call an emergency Order meeting for later this evening. I will check the remains of Number Four, and will meet everyone at Headquarters. I'll have to break the news of his relatives' demise to Harry, as well,' he said, a visible sense of dread creeping over his normally jolly features. No, Severus thought, he did not envy the headmaster at that moment. In fact, on the whole, he thought bitterly, today had been a very bad day.


End file.
